


eros, by nature

by c0rnfl0wer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Russian Mythology, Vila AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0rnfl0wer/pseuds/c0rnfl0wer
Summary: At the fringes, no one knows what to expect of anyone else. Yet, Yuuri felt he knew Viktor better than others. Chance incidences had given him the appreciated chance to meet Viktor, the tsar of his land, and strengthen the relationship. But trust does not always work both ways, and a bad reputation of the fringes can damage more than thoughts.A historical/fantasy AU based off of Slavic mythology and history. Yuuri is a Vila - an elf-like spirit known for its liveliness... and temporarily malicious nature. Viktor is tsar over Yuuri's home.





	1. seduce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jellyfish_Tacos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfish_Tacos/gifts).



_Vila (plural, Vili): a beautiful nymph, or elven-like spirit, with some power over the elements and men’s hearts; they could either be kind or malicious to humans depending on their mood._

 

* * *

 

 

Where the tsar’s border was drawn was where his territory stopped.

Yuuri had lived among these trees for longer than the concept of the tsars had existed, had seen the lines be drawn and fought over time and time again until all borders set were arbitrary. But he was loyal to the land, and to the master who claimed it as their administration.

News rarely reached him; he learned very few names of the tsars.

The land he bound himself to was narrow and flung far out from the concentration of the human population; he had never seen a tsar before, even though they could affect his life so.

He could remember back to old boundaries, could still draw them in the dirt, but it had been centuries since the last dispute over this parcel of land. The current tsardom had been stable for a while now and he trusted its rulers not to abandon the land yet. The current tsardom had always been so lenient to his kind, when others had tried to decimate them, and he trusted its rulers to retain this policy and protect him.

He couldn’t name the current tsar to save his existence, but he trusted them. Loved them, for all the solitude he had been granted and maintained.

He loved them as dearly as he loved his territory.

Yuuri had memorized every inch of the woods over the years, an expected benefit of never moving from them. Navigating among the trees was second nature when he knew where each one grew and thrust out its roots. Predicting when the rain would fall and when the sun would burn relentlessly didn’t require any complicated knowledge or ability after so many seasons.

He knew how many paces there were between the closest lake’s banks and the nearest tree, and where the reeds knotted in the water, and when to stay away from it. He knew when the malicious aquatic spirits would dominate its waters and how to escape their beckoning presence should they mistake him for human.

And he knew precisely how many humans would cross the faded paths of the woods: in these days, very few.

Passing soldiers made up the majority of the humans he observed from afar, from beyond their notice.

It was best he never got close.

Phichit was the one who was a natural at socializing with humans when they chanced upon their band.

“They can’t stay away once they see you! And they’re so easy to talk to, Yuuri. You could tell them the dumbest things and they’d believe you just for the story of meeting a Vila.”

“Phichit, that’s not-”

“You’ll talk to one someday, Yuuri, I have faith in you. And maybe it’ll help you start having premonitions, too. Maybe it’ll be good for you! Just try it on the next one, alright?”

“The next one.”

While Yuuri wasn’t the only one to lack this, many of the other Vili had had vague premonition abilities for almost as long as they had existed.

This included Phichit. Though he generally did not care about what the future would bring, their days blending into the next, he always earned the attention of humans by telling them their fates. The odd soldier got a story to take home and garner him fame; Phichit was more than happy to have their obsessive attention before finally setting them free.

It always worked out for Phichit.

Envy of such abilities and meetings rarely troubled Yuuri, finding satisfaction in his own routines. But he did get one benefit from Phichit’s penchant for attention: news of the current tsar, of their name and policies toward spirits. Phichit had always collected this information from the soldiers, telling them it was the price for having their fate foretold, though truly it was solely for Yuuri’s sake.

Yuuri treasured the information immensely: after all the terrible policies they had endured before, all the hate wrought for them for reason or other, he knew the importance of keeping tabs on the humans. So spontaneous and conflicting! Never before had he faced dire consequences, though history challenged this. But he had to listen, lest the threat of death knock at his door.

This is exactly what he believed was happening when several soldiers and masons were sent forth into their woods, tools in hand as if to clear the trees and all the Vili with them.

In coming weeks, they began felling some of the trees Yuuri knew so well, furthering his fears.

There was no explaining the wood that was set aside by the lake’s edge, or the people that lingered with it, to Yuuri’s isolated logic.

“Alright, alright, I have an answer for you, Yuuri. It wasn’t that hard.”

After much pleading on Yuuri’s part, Phichit had agreed to lure in and ask some of the newcomers and find out the reasons for their coming. Their whole community had been shaken by it, after so many centuries spent undisturbed, though Phichit always played the optimist.

“It’s not what the rest of you are thinking. I guess the tsar… tsar… Tsar Yakov! He’s coming this way to meet with Tsar Leroy - y’know, the one over on the other side of the lake, I think - and is planning to stay there for a few months. So, he decided to have a house, which seems to be their word for something to live in apparently, built here. It’s just in case he needed some solitude. I hear his son, the tsarevich, is vacationing here, too. Something about his needing to meet the other tsar too, I don’t know. But I guess they’ll be staying here for some time.”

“So… they’ll leave eventually?”

“Yes, Yuuri. Before winter’s end.”

There was no explaining the relief that accompanied this information.

“Hey, I thought you said you were going to talk to the next human. Now there’s a whole bunch here. What gives?”

Yuuri avoided that question as weakly as he always had.

Over the coming months, he watched the people lay the foundations and raise the walls and furnish it elaborately. From the tree where he perched he saw everything of interest; the hurrying masons along widening paths and carvings being etched into the front door of the house.

And then everything was perfected, and the doors were secured and windows shut, and most of the men left. Only one servant remained behind to look after the little house and await the tsar and tsarevich.

They left with the arrival of snow.

Tsar Yakov and his son came only after snow blanketed the ground and frost bit at the trees.

With great haste their little entourage of servants lit the hearth so that firelight spilled from the windows and welcomed the royalty. Tsar Yakov waved many of their efforts off, simply stepping down from their fur lined sleigh and retreating inside. The tsarevich followed at his heels, grinning at the servants and insisting on carrying some of his luggage alone.

Yuuri kept up his watch until the tsarevich decided to explore the surrounding area. He could only vaguely make out the boy’s features before he slipped away: a lithe figure and long silver hair plaited back.

A week passed. He checked on the royal family every night. Out of curiosity, concern, desire.

After the week, Tsar Yakov mounted his sleigh again and made for the neighboring tsardom, leaving his son in the care of the attendants.

Another week passed. The tsarevich delved deeper into the woods each day with his adventures, encroaching further into Vila territory.

_Had no one ever warned him of the dangers that dwelled in the forest?_

Yuuri started watching over the tsarevich vigilantly once he noticed this trend, hoping no harm would come, hoping if trouble arose he could solve it alone before the tsarevich noticed anything amiss. He kept the other Vili at bay, pleads shifting into needed demands when he was questioned, and did his best to drive all other spirits of malicious intent away.

Vili could be warriors when they chose to be, and Yuuri was no exception.

It was after that week that Yuuri received his first premonition; so short and unexpected and faded that he almost missed it.

One word found its way into his mind, quietly and quickly, one which he had never heard before even though he knew by some innate instinct from the premonition that it was a name.

 _Viktor_.

He almost missed it. But when he caught it, it stuck in his mind firmly. The connections were made without effort, his newfound abilities finding the whole of the revelation for him.

The tsarevich’s name was Viktor.

His indirect benefactors were Tsar Yakov and Tsarevich Viktor.

It was rare for him to know so much at once of human affairs. And the explanation was a dumbfoundedly simple one: he had spent enough time around the tsarevich - a feat previously thought impossible - for his premonitions to find reason to begin.

His guard was maintained, though now he knew his subject.

“Honestly, Yuuri, why don’t you just talk to him?”

“You know I can’t. He’s the _tsarevich_. He’ll decide our future when he takes the throne. What if he’s been ignoring us and getting so close because he doesn’t care about us? Or maybe he doesn’t know about us and will hate us? We can’t risk it, Phichit. It might just ruin all of our lives for as long as his reign lasts. I’ll talk to him when I know he sees me as an equal.”

Yuuri’s argument was sound enough, his resolve permanent enough. Phichit withdrew his question with a sigh.

This reasoning remained until the fourth and final week - from what Phichit had gathered - that Tsarevich Viktor was to stay there.

Another premonition found him around noon one day, after he had abandoned Viktor to chase away another curious spirit; he wouldn’t let even Phichit cross his self-established perimeter.

Everything that formed reality dropped from his consciousness: the leaves of the trees before him, the feel of the wind rustling his long hair, the sound of a fleeing spirit. Coming to a standstill, he closed his eyes and was forced to see the premonition through.

And it was intense.

And it almost made him feel sick.

The shock of having such a vivid vision after centuries without them was overwhelming. His senses were ripped from him before being replaced with what seemed to be a clearer, brighter view. Before, if he could have fathomed such a feeling, he would have assumed that the premonition would leave him drained of energy.

Yet his energy hiked instead.

Because for all the stress and confusion that accompanied his first full premonition, something more pressing lay in its contents. His sight darkened before letting him see the woods before him, the silence deafened him before allowing him to hear once again, and his consciousness struggled to take control once more.

The world was still shifting, his mind still trying to catch up, when he took off running.

Finding a path through the woods came to him without effort, his jumping over roots and dodging bramble instinctively. He just needed to hurry and beat the clock that was ticking down in his mind since the premonition had relinquished him.

When he reached his destination, there was no time for relief.

No time to think everything through, even when he had always been so cautious.

Not far from his temporary home, Tsarevich Viktor had found a tree branch able to bear his weight and reclined against its trunk.

His silver hair snagged on some smaller branches and the bark, unaware.

His eyes were closed, though Yuuri doubted that he was sleeping.

But he had left himself vulnerable.

And Yuuri had failed.

He had failed.

Another forest spirit deftly hung above him, reaching down. With a rough shove, she knocked him from his perch, sent him on a painful path to the ground with tattered hair and a steep fall below. There was no time to reach out for support by the time he had fully lost his balance.

Willing himself to calm down, Yuuri gathered the energy the premonition had instilled in him and sent a gust of wind toward Tsarevich Viktor, strong enough to free his hair of tangles and clear him of being nicked by reaching branches on the way down.

It wasn’t enough to break the fall completely, but he could manage this at least.

Yuuri rushed forward before Tsarevich Viktor had even reached the ground, trying to meet him as quickly as he could. Pain stained his expression and his breath came shallowly, unevenly. Unconsciously he reached for his chest, hand lightly probing his side before Yuuri swept it away, hoping to minimize the damage as much as he could.

While Tsarevich Viktor was preoccupied with the pain and grasping for his consciousness, Yuuri put a soothing hand to his side where he had touched it earlier. Yuuri brushed a hand against the back of his head, lifting him up slightly, and found all the other injuries that had been incurred.

Never before had he used the Vila power of healing humans, but he was grateful for it now.

When Tsarevich Viktor had been fully mended, Yuuri withdrew. After such a fall then supernatural recovery, Yuuri doubted he would be conscious again quickly.

But he wore a small smile just in case Tsarevich Viktor opened his eyes.

And he admonished gently: “You shouldn’t be climbing trees here. Not all spirits are like me. You must be careful from now on.”

His work finished, Yuuri left Tsarevich Viktor's presence before he could truly wake up and register what had just healed him. Partially out of the fears he paraded to Phichit, and largely out of fear of meeting his beloved royal and being responded to with wrath or disgust or fear.

Yuuri kept up his guard more intensively after that, guilt plaguing him that he could not protect the beautiful tsarevich better.

But the next day the house was vacated and Tsarevich Viktor absent.

Only…

The premonitions of Tsarevich Viktor - and the tsarevich alone - remained, never stopping through the long years afterward.

 

* * *

 

Once upon a time there was a tsar named Viktor.

Tsar Viktor ruled over his tsardom fairly and attentively and was loved by all of his subjects. He depended on his closest advisor, Christophe, to help him judge what his people wanted and on his younger brother, Yuri, to help him judge what his people needed. In this way he remained the best tsar in all the Russias and kept his tsardom stable when others fell into war or worse.

In accordance with tradition, he also provided a safe haven to some of the less desirable spirits cast out of other tsardoms from hatred. As much of his land was crowded with forests and laced with rivers it provided the perfect refuge for various spirits. From a young age he had been taught that tampering with them could have more serious side effects than driving them away. And so those who avoided humans were allowed to stay undisturbed on the fringes of society and those who could help humans were welcomed into their fields and households with great reverence and respect.

For the tsar commanded it, and the tsar knew best.

Although he spent most of his time administering his state, Tsar Viktor knew that much was missing from his life. He had watched his subjects live their lives for years and yet never lived his own.

After having held the throne for a few years, it was high time he took a break.

Leaving Christophe and Yuri in his stead, he returned to the one place he had been longing to see again for years, where he could just be Viktor.

He had only been there for a few weeks, but he still clearly remembered the little house in the woods that had been erected just for his family and was maintained throughout the years. He remembered the carved front door, the narrow rooms resulting from a rushed job, the heavy smell of wood that lingered, the modest furniture that contrasted too much with the silken coverings. He remembered the lake and the nearby woods that his servant had warned him not to venture too far into, for spirits lurked among those trees waiting to grab him.

He never did listen to such advice. Though in hindsight perhaps he should have.

Because he still had a vague memory of those weeks that was forever tinted with fear and dulled shock. Of the frigid fingers that had somehow left a mark on his arm despite all the clothing he had worn. Of the sharp pain in his ribs that was quickly bled from him by a different set of soothing hands, leaving him feeling better than he ever had, if weary.

Of the gentle words admonishing him in such an alluring voice, only slightly remembered.

Curiosity had gripped him since, urging him to return and find the being responsible for such a feat. Because there _had_ to be some living soul behind his miraculous recovery after such a steep fall, and they deserved to be rewarded. Anything that would tend to a tsarevich, potentially save his life, should be respected and rewarded greatly.

If only he could find the being responsible.

Wishing to replicate the conditions exactly, Viktor chose to take his vacation in the dead of winter. Only one servant accompanied him, driving the sleigh that bore their supplies while Viktor rode on ahead. He set a fire ablaze in the hearth, helped the servant unpack, then ordered him to stay inside for the duration of the vacation so that he would not scare any spirit away.

Viktor’s own safety could be set aside for this.

On his first morning, he traced the steps through the woods that he had taken years before. He did his best to remain quiet and to keep his eyes open as he glassed through the expansive land.

The task seemed impossible, but there was no excuse to lose his optimism.

_Surely such a kind spirit would return if they only knew._

He took another path on the second day, a different on the third, then passed through them again in coming days just in case he had missed a detail, in case something changed.

After two weeks of hiking and searching high and low, he paused his expeditions for a few days. For three days, he let time pass by idly. On the first day he stayed inside, his feet sore and wondering if he would ever truly feel warm again. On the second day, he helped his servant collect more wood to keep their fire alight. On the third day, he stayed by the lake, drenched in furs as he let the sun pass overhead weakly.

At his back trees rose and formed a barrier completely around the lake, only allowing a thin strip of land between their roots and the water. In places, dead reeds knotted in the water, struggling to make it past the ice only to be coated with frost. The rest of the lake was hidden under thick sheets of ice, a bright white that contrasted so much with the black waters that were visible in the summer. If a person had the mind to they could walk across this lake without fear, though no one ever came out this way. In the warmer seasons the lake would be haunted by evil spirits, or so the legends said, and so no one approached the area at all. If simply from caution.

Viktor didn’t step onto the ice, opting instead to pace the lake’s bank and kneel down when he grew weary.

If any thoughts crossed his mind, they were wordless. Memories of that distant winter and questioning and waiting.

Only on the fourth day was his loose schedule interrupted.

“I caught one!”

The call was _loud_ , echoing through the otherwise calm woods. A commotion followed it, faded and dying off as suddenly as it had started, a chaos that could easily be missed and forgotten if it had not been accompanied by such a piercing voice. Because the voice was sharp and clear, just enough that Viktor could track it down if he wanted to, and everything else that sounded off with it only seemed to add to its deafening effect.

But that wasn’t why Viktor jolted in surprise, no.

Viktor could count the things he knew about the Vili on one hand.

  1. They preferred to be left alone.
  2. They were warriors and prophets all in one.
  3. They could seduce humans.
  4. Dancing with one could either be a good or bad thing.
  5. They could be killed by plucking their hair.



All in all, it wasn’t much to go off of. They weren’t a pleasant story for anyone besides the soldiers who encountered them and were told of their fate; in fact, it was only from his soldiers that Viktor knew these facts at all. His caretakers had only ever told him of household and field spirits when he was a child, leaving him unprepared to deal with any others that might cause trouble or come to him. From what he remembered, anyway.

Yet, even without detailed knowledge, he was fairly certain that the being that had crept up on him was a Vila. What else could it be but such a forest spirit?

“You must follow me.”

It would have been a cryptic message if the concern and panic had not been so clearly written on the Vila’s face. This was a genuine request for help, no doubt in response to the earlier call.

Acting automatically, Viktor stood and followed the Vila before fully registering or understanding what was happening. Tugging his cloak tighter about him, he raced after the Vila and tried to replicate its steps as mindfully as he could. The cold reflected to him how rough his breath had become and his cheeks reddened with the increased exposure to it, but he kept running. Followed the Vila closely.

The Vila only came to a stop when it had returned to the source of the earlier call, then stepped aside for Viktor.

Though the rest of the band had obviously fled in desperation, one of the Vila had been caught. Its hair was held tightly and a knife poised next to it, threatening to slash through the strands.

“Oh, come to watch my victory, Tsar Viktor?” Tsar Jean-Jacques smirked as he glanced up at Viktor, proud of his _catch_. “Remember how I told you about these pesky Vili always crossing my borders and taking my soldiers? This should teach them to mess with my army again!”

The border between Viktor and Jean-Jacques’ tsardoms was nearby, just on the other side of the lake, though they were in Viktor’s territory. Their geographic proximity had encouraged an alliance between them, though their policies were far different. Where Jean-Jacques shunned these spirits, Viktor let them in freely and without stipulation.

Their relationship was stable enough from history, if weak.

But this was appalling.

“You’re doing this on my side of the border. Why didn’t you consult with me before doing… _this_?” Viktor managed this through clenched teeth, posture stiffening as the realization of the captured Vila’s stance sunk in.

“Oh relax! I’m not that far away from my land! Look, I won’t have to barge in like this again after I do this. And I didn’t think you’d be anywhere near here anyway! I’ll just use this one to send the others a warning, they’ll behave, and neither of us will be bothered anymore. It’s not a bad thing to make these pests act civilly every so often.”

Jean-Jaques wound the Vila’s hair further around his hand, causing it to yelp. The messenger Vila gripped Viktor’s arm, silently begging him to do something.

“No. Let it go. I’ll solve the problem if I have to. But not like this.” Viktor put emphasis on each word and took a step toward them, drawing himself up to strengthen his resolve.

“No way. Do you know how hard it is to catch one of these? I’ve been chasing them off my land for months and they keep returning. Now I finally catch one and have a chance of protecting my people and you want me to let it go? You gotta let me have just this.”

“Forget it, you’re on my land. And I want you _out_.”

There was no waiting anymore. Breaking free of the other Vila’s hold, Viktor approached Jean-Jacques to force him away from the Vila. With one hand on the Vila’s shoulder, he shoved Jean-Jacques backward.

Only…

After Jean-Jacques had been knocked back a few steps was when he noticed a tuft of black hair held in his hand, the knife still in the other. Viktor rushed forward once more to snatch the hair from his grasp and chase Jean-Jacques away once and for all.

“You got you wanted. _Leave_.”

“You got it. You’re welcome, by the way. That’s one less threat to all of us.”

With an arrogant smile Jean-Jacques complied, waving the rest of his entourage to follow him back to his tsardom while boisterously proclaiming how he had beaten the mighty Vila all the way.

Paying no mind to the retreating tsar, Viktor looked down at the hair he clutched in his hand then turned to look at the Vila.

It had collapsed on the ground where it had been held, still and silent. If not dead, then at least extremely weakened. It had probably trusted in Viktor’s protection and instead lost a lock of its hair, had been wounded.

It had been left vulnerable and Viktor had been too inattentive.

And Viktor had failed in his protection.

He had failed.

A chill stung him far more than the external weather could. It burrowed deep and stopped his heartbeat, choked his lungs, froze his very essence. Because he had been a part of this. Viktor had been the one to shove too roughly, to cause the knife to cut through its hair. Intent meant nothing, his fight meant nothing, when he had caused the Vila to be harmed so.

Mechanic movement urged him forward, to drop to his knees beside the Vila and desperately hope that there was _something_ , anything, he could do.

The Vila’s legs were tucked underneath it and it was slumped over. Long black hair hid its face, the locks now tangled from where they had been knotted and bunched. Sheer white fabric dripped from its thin frame, soiled from having been forced to kneel on the ground.

Viktor hesitated for a moment, fearful of somehow wounding it more, before brushing back some of its - _his_ \- hair. An abnormally pale face, eyes shut tightly, and eyebrows creased. He bit his lips roughly, breath too quick and shallow for comfort. He was so obviously in pain. But alive.

The Vila was alive.

“Don’t just stare at him! Do something! You can do something, can’t you? You’re the tsar! You can get a mage or something. He’s not dead yet, but how do you expect him to recover? Do something. _Please_.”

The messenger Vila stood over Viktor, tone a mixture of concern and demand.

Viktor tensed, mind flickering through the implication that the Vila could be saved and trying to figure out how to help. But the messenger had a point: he could call upon the best physicians, or mages, or whatever was needed to cure spirits of such a maiming.

“I don’t know. I’ll find out. He’ll be back, I promise.”

It was a halfhearted promise; Viktor didn’t let that leak into his voice. Jaw clenched and movements rigid, he tucked the lost black hair securely in an inner pocket of his cloak and lifted the Vila into his arms lightly.

He was calling for the servant before he had even reached the house.

Douse the fire, line the sleigh with furs, try not to jostle too much while driving. He had nestled the Vila into the sleigh before mounting his own horse, intent on gathering all the physicians he could before the servant and Vila reached his palace.

His determination was resolute, his mind totally devoted to the task at hand. There was no time for the guilt and sympathy to gnaw at him more. He had to go.

But something else consumed him too.

Before he had left the Vila’s company, he had opened his eyes briefly and reached for Viktor. Whether he was really processing what was happening, really seeing what was in front of him, was questionable. But still he reached for Viktor and spoke, then fell unconscious once more.

The utterance was still vivid in Viktor’s mind. A riddle.

“You came back for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I have word from the physicians, Vitya.”

Viktor was perched on the windowsill of his bedroom, agitated. He had been shifting between frustrated resting, pacing, hurried attempts at his work, and calling for news of the Vila. He had not slept since his return to Winter Palace a few days prior. He had not been able to calm himself, to focus on anything, to take his mind off the Vila.

“Well, Christophe? Tell me.”

“They say he should be alright. Something about how his anatomy is different so they’re not entirely sure but, he’s showing improvement.”

“Can I see him?” He sat up fully, knuckles white as he clutched the windowsill.

Christophe shrugged, not knowing the actual answer. “I don’t think anyone can really stop you, _Tsar Viktor_.”

Abandoning his post immediately, Viktor rushed past Christophe and down the hall to the quarters he had arranged for the Vila. He had specifically ordered a room close to his in case news came, and no one had questioned it. This wasn’t the first time their tsar had become obsessed with some element of his work or other, and extending such help to the spirit was dismissed as part of this.

Forcing himself to not outright intrude on the Vila, Viktor knocked on the door and waited a beat before flinging it open and entering. He closed the door behind him and approached the bed.

The lock of black hair was still stashed safely on his person.

Every one of the Vila’s needs had been met as far as Viktor’s servants could accomplish: his stained white dress had been replaced by a thicker one elaborately embroidered, one of Viktor’s old tunics; the mud had been washed from his skin; his hair was combed and braided carefully. Some color had returned to his face, replacing the deathly pale tone he had worn before. His chest rose and fell more evenly, his breath having returned to him. According to the physicians, he was well enough to open his eyes and sit up, though he hadn’t spoken to them despite all their inquiries.

But he was visibly doing better.

That was all that mattered.

Caught between deafening concern and the false charming calm he was used to, Viktor stood beside the Vila for a moment, silent.

The Vila seemed to be asleep again, and Viktor turned away with the plan to visit again soon.

“Wait.”

Viktor came to a halt and backtracked, looking down at the Vila with shock. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Er, it’s fine. No worries. I mean, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything. For getting that other human away from me.”

Arguments to this almost left Viktor’s lips before he thought twice about it. He shouldn’t be causing such excitement in the Vila so soon. A second later he had thought of a more suiting topic and replicated the winning smile he used with all of his subjects.

“You’re speaking. They told me you wouldn’t speak. I talked to your physicians before I came in.”

“Oh… yeah.”

That fell flatter than what Viktor was hoping for. He shifted his weight to one foot and scrambled for a new topic, a better one.

“Is there anything else we can do for you? Anything at all? The physicians… No one knows how to cure a Vila, really.”

Much better; this had to win the Vila over. To get him to open up more.

“No. There’s nothing else. I think only time can fix this. Though none of us have ever had our hair cut like this. Only plucked from the roots. I don’t know.”

“Oh… Well do let someone know if you need anything.” Viktor paused, licked his lips. “What’s your name?”

“Yuuri.”

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances, then, Yuuri. By the way, I’m Ts-”

“I know who you are, Tsar Viktor.”

Viktor floundered for an answer. He had never thought a spirit of such an isolated area would hear his name. He stared at Yuuri for a moment longer than he should have, causing Yuuri to shift uncomfortably.

“We heard your name a few times when your house was being built, when Tsar Yakov was still tsar. And then again one time when one of your people was fixing the house. The soldiers that come by talk about you, too, though we don’t get them very often.”

“Heard it? Those woods really are haunted, aren’t they?” Viktor asked thoughtfully. He sat on the edge of Yuuri’s bed, trying not to disturb him too much.

“I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t say _haunted_. We’ve been there for a long time. Longer than your tsardom has existed.”

“So you’ve been there a long time then? You know all the other spirits who live there?”

“Well, a lot of them, sure.”

“Can I ask you…” Viktor broke off for a long moment, trying to word what he wanted to say properly. He had never told anyone before. “Since you know I stayed there for a while when I was younger, then. I fell from a tree back then and something healed me. Or someone. That’s why I went back; I wanted to find them. You never heard anything like that, did you?”

Yuuri only shook his head.

“Hm, thanks anyway.”

A pause. Viktor stood.

“I’ll let you get back to sleep. Sorry again for waking you.”

Yuuri leaned forward, catching Viktor’s wrist.

“Wait, you keep lea-” He stopped short, rethought his words, then released his hold on Viktor. “I’m sorry. You probably have other things to do. Thank you for everything, Tsar Viktor.”

Viktor nodded numbly and left.

 

* * *

 

 

He tried to return to his duties as tsar. And failed quite thoroughly. He was too agitated, too distracted, still. More often than not Christophe stepped in to handle minor matters while Yuri reprimanded him for being so forgetful, more so than usual. Viktor was fairly successful at ignoring the latter part, though he did thank Christophe for his help a few times.

“It’s just hard when he’s here. I mean, I am partially responsible for…”

“Perhaps don’t mention that to him. We still have very little idea how he would react. It’s not like Vili come to us often. They never leave their woods.”

“Oh, that’s right! Do you think we should take him back? Maybe being away from his home is delaying his recovery and we just don’t know it. Or it’s making him worse. Should we take him back?”

“Look, Vitya, I try to have answers for you, but this time you’re making it so hard for me. Not even the physicians know for sure. You should just talk to him if you’re so concerned. Besides, he hasn’t talked to anyone else.”

Viktor hadn’t visited Yuuri again since the initial introduction, not sure as to how he could remedy all this. The physicians kept him constantly updated: how he wasn’t always asleep now, how he could stand again without fainting, how one of the physicians had walked in on him singing once - though he fell silent immediately when he heard the door open.

It helped to have a definitive subject in mind, coaxing him to visit Yuuri once more without the guilt stifling him quite as much. He knocked again, waited, and came to stand beside Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri was awake this time.

“Can you stand?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Can you walk for a while? It’s not that far, and I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Yuuri hesitated, then answered, “I think so.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Despite it being a command, despite the solidity of the statement, his tone was gentle, voice quieted. He held out a hand to help Yuuri stand up then wrapped a cloak about his shoulders before leading him through the halls of his palace. His pace was slowed and his gaze constantly flickered to Yuuri, ready to step in should he show any sign of weakness. But he remained strong, and they found their way outside without incident.

“You know I don’t need this, right?” Yuuri tugged at the cloak Viktor had given him. “The cold doesn’t bother us. But, thank you.”

“Right. Forgot about that.” Viktor put a hand to his forehead but recovered quickly. He gestured toward a turn in the garden path. “We’re almost there.”

Sweeping cobblestone lanes dissolved into a broken stone pathway as they turned away from the more well-maintained parts of the garden. Everything was brown and frostbitten with winter’s presence, the flowers and other prized plants waiting to wear their bright colors again come spring. Even the thin path was devoid of overgrowth as snow buried the dead grass below that would grow up around and in between the stones. Behind them was the manicured gardens Viktor always boasted to guests, but behind them was also sleep and death.

Dark green leaves heavy with snow were ahead, denoting the thicket that grew on his lands. No one saw to it, tended it, sought it out. It lay far off the main ways enough to be forgotten.

This was the first-time Viktor had ever seen use in it.

“You’re not gonna keep me _here_ , are you?” Yuuri laughed shakily, looking ahead to the crowded trees.

“No, no of course not. When you’re well you can go home if you wish. I just thought being in a familiar setting might help… raise your spirits. Or something.” Viktor looked away, drawing his shoulders together.

 _He could never seem to say the right thing_.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”

Viktor shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”

When they reached the first line of trees, Yuuri automatically pulled himself up onto one of the lower branches and rested there. He peered down at Viktor, head resting against the tree trunk, still in comfortable auditory range of him.

“I can… um, I can help you up if you want.” Yuuri’s cheeks were tinted pink, his voice falling awkward.

“No, that’s fine.” Viktor stepped back unconsciously.

He hadn’t been too keen on climbing since he was young.

“Right, sorry.”

Yuuri shifted his gaze upward, visibly relaxing here in comparison to how stiff and uncertain he seemed in the palace. So different from Viktor, who kept his posture impeccable from habit alone.

“Well? Do you feel any better here?”

“Much.” Yuuri leaned over the branch to meet Viktor’s eyes. “It’s weird being in there all day. Don’t you ever miss the sky? Or open space?”

“Guess I just grew up differently.” Viktor offered him a smile, which Yuuri reciprocated. “I suppose it’s a worthwhile sacrifice if I get to stay warm. We can’t withstand the cold like you.”

“No, I assumed not. Like when y-” Yuuri cut himself off, silently admonishing himself for getting too close to the truth. He shook his head and tried again. “I figured as much when you gave me the cloak.”

Viktor laughed at this, inviting Yuuri to join.

“So, you’ll really let me go home when I’m better?”

“Yes, why?”

“We just… never know what to expect from you humans. A few centuries ago the rulers of our land were so horrid. Even the soldiers back then avoided us. Though, really, they only use us for prophecies so I suppose that wasn’t the worst part.” Yuuri leaned back, sighed. “How was I to know whether I would return home? A few days ago, I wasn’t even sure if I’d live.”

“You’re protected here, you always will be within my borders. Perhaps tell the rest of the Vili to stay away from Tsar Jean-Jacques’s territory, though? I’ll send a few of my soldiers out to guard the border, if that would help you. And I’ll cut relations off with him completely if he tries that again. Just tell me how I can fix this, _please_.”

“You shouldn’t have to fix this. I’ll tell the others to stay within your borders.” And Yuuri hardened his voice, distanced himself from Viktor again.

A pause.

“Why have you been so concerned?”

“What?”

“I mean, you saved my life. And spent a bunch of resources on me. And took me out here. And just offered to do so much more. You’re a _tsar_ , why do you bother with us?”

“Because Vili fall under my administration.”

It was cold, diplomatic. But he feared any other answer would only cause doubt.

“That makes a bit more sense.”

“You know…” Viktor licked his lips, hesitated. “Since you’re well enough to walk again, you can start dining with us. If you want. I don’t know what Vili eat but, I’m sure we could find something.”

“I might pass on that, actually. It’s weird being around humans, especially a lot of them. Also, um, the premonitions I get, from being around people. It’s kind of distracting. I like it here, though, better than inside.” There was a trembling uncertainty in Yuuri’s voice, but Viktor tried to ignore it. It was more than he could hope for as is.

“Mind if I join you out here sometime? When you’re well enough to leave your room more often?”

“O-only if you want to… You should probably go back inside, though. It’s getting dark, Your Imperial Majesty. You shouldn’t be out here in the cold.”

“Oh, right. Coming?”

Yuuri slipped off the branch he had perched on and followed Viktor back up the stone path, an expression of near disappointment on his features. But he followed regardless and retreated back to his quarters, still wearing the cloak Viktor had brought him.

Viktor almost asked Yuuri to call him _Vitya_ instead of conforming to formalities, but thought better of it.

As Christophe had said, not many Vili had come their way. He had little clue as to what they found acceptable or not or even understood.

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright, I asked your physicians and a couple of our mages, just to make sure, and this should be fine. Unless we missed something. But I brought someone here to meet you!”

Viktor’s crowing announcement was appreciated, but a bit late.

Makkachin had already jumped onto Yuuri’s bed to greet him.

He tried not to though at this point it was instinctual; Yuuri flinched at seeing Makkachin. He threw his hands up and tensed his body and leaned back, ready to flee if necessary. Only Viktor’s unconcerned voice kept Yuuri in place, at first, convinced that it might be rude if he rejected Viktor’s _offer_. It was an act of great will for him to stay still as Makkachin nudged her head under Yuuri’s chin and licked him, her paws heavy on his thighs. But he did, letting Makkachin prove herself before assuming he should escape in fear.

It was for the best, as he realized after a minute of her affection.

“Makkachin’s been wanting to meet you since you came here. I know she has: she loves meeting new people. And— you flinched. Why did you flinch? Should I have not brought her?”

“I…”

“Makkachin, come here. Maybe we should give Yuuri a moment.”

Viktor held out a hand, whistled to try and get her attention, though she did not budge from her seat on Yuuri’s bed. She lifted her head, turned her gaze toward Viktor, gave a low whine. But his efforts were ultimately ignored as Makkachin nuzzled close to Yuuri again.

After the initial shock and realizing how little threat she presented, Yuuri relaxed at Makkachin’s presence. He rested a hand on her head and lifted his chin for her.

“It’s fine!” Yuuri insisted once he gathered his thoughts enough to respond. “It just took me by surprise. Hounds aren’t that common around our area of the woods.”

Viktor laughed at his answer, confusing Yuuri until he spoke. He moved to sit next to Yuuri and ran a hand along her back. “No, Makka’s not a hound! I never trained her for hunting. She’s a bit old to go hunting now anyway, huh Makka?”

“I thought all of the ones like her were hounds,” Yuuri said dejectedly.

“What? Poodles? We don’t have a lot of them here in Russia; they’re German dogs. Perhaps you are mistaken?”

Yuuri only gave him an even more bewildered look, unsure of how to respond to new information he could not place.

“You really must not see dogs where you live often,” Viktor mused.

“Not really, no, as I said. Um, you don’t use Makkachin for hunting?”

“No? Why? We don’t use dogs just for _that_. They also make great best friends!”

“I’ve never heard that before.” Yuuri brushed his hair back and peered down at Makkachin.

“Hm, I suppose that makes sense. I guess the only reason you’d see dogs is if they’re hunting. But Makkachin doesn’t do that. She’s a good girl!” Viktor leaned over to give Makkachin a scratch behind her ears though Yuuri waved him away and rested his head against hers.

“You’re right, on both accounts. I don’t usually meet dogs as friendly as her. And well, even if they are friendly, dogs tend to be scared of Vili. Maybe they just don’t expect us to be there or they’ve been taught not to go near us. But usually they just bark at us, or try to bite, and all run away eventually. I’ve never thought we’re _that_ cruel, though I suppose an animal that’s never around us wouldn’t know better.” He ended his explanation on a sigh, earning a reassuring lick from Makkachin.

“But they don’t _all_ act like that, right?” Viktor tensed, some mixture of guilt and sympathy lacing his tone.

“No, not all. Just all the older ones. But a few years ago while that house you have by our lake was vacated, one of your servants you sent there brought a couple of their hounds. And I think one of their puppies must’ve gotten out while they were away because I could hear it whimpering and barking at the door. I waited for your servant to return but when the sun began to set I went to fetch it.

“I was expecting him to bark at me, too, but he ended up being sweet. He came over to me and let me pick him up. I guess he was too young to know better. So, I brought him back home and named him _Vicchan_. And… I kinda ended up keeping him. I shouldn’t have but the clan loved him, he was the first dog to act that way around us. We took good care of him.”

“What happened?”

“I’ve only seen hounds survive in the woods. Vicchan was just a puppy…”

If the story didn’t have such a bitter ending, Yuuri would be hung up on the relieving realization that Viktor didn’t question the name _Vicchan._ But it did, and instead Yuuri buried himself in Makkachin’s fur, focused his attention on how she responded with a nudge against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri…” Viktor had the vague feeling that he should say more, but no words were forthcoming. What answer was there to such a story?

“Makka reminds me of him. Now that I know her better, anyway. She’s a good girl, exactly like you said.”

Viktor stood, deciding his next words without much thought. “Do you wanna take Makkachin on a walk with me? There’s a river just across the street we can follow, and we can come back if it’s too tiring.”

“Really?” Astonishment involuntarily appeared in his voice, his expression. Because it was one thing to spend time with the tsar in private but another to be seen with him in public. For the tsar to be seen with a _Vila_.

“Of course. Why not?” Viktor shrugged, and Yuuri dared not argue.

Yuuri gently pushed Makkachin from his lap and stood up. He looked at Viktor expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way. Instead, Viktor stood there for a moment to examine Yuuri intensely.

“You probably shouldn’t go out like that. I know we gave you my old tunics and cloaks for comfort, but that’s gonna draw some odd looks in public. Let me have one of the servants send over some more clothing for you. And shoes, actually. I hope you don’t mind wearing some of my older things again.”

“Not at all! That’s no problem!”

“Perfect! I’ll go find someone to help me. Keep Makkachin company in the meantime! I’ll wait outside your door once we do find something!”

Yuuri was content to sit beside Makkachin again and pull her onto his lap, resuming his earlier attempts to pet her. For the next half hour. Yuuri was starting to question whether they were still going or would lose the daylight when a few of Viktor’s servants returned with several chests. One of them waved to the chests with the vague instructions to pick whatever he wanted and that fitted.

And then they left.

It was a lot to look through.

Yuuri tried to hurry as he glassed through the chests. Through the carefully folded cloaks, dress shirts, leggings, trousers, boots, even heavily embroidered dresses. It took some time for him to piece together an outfit he thought Viktor would deem suitable and that he hoped would fit him. He had never been one to take a hand in fashion; the Vili tend to keep to the same white dress for decades, centuries, at a time.

Which is why Yuuri, once finished and dressed, asked Viktor: “Is this alright?”

“You look perfect! But, one more thing.”

Yuuri watched the light in the room nervously as Viktor combed Yuuri’s hair and braided it neatly. Viktor had deft and nimble fingers at the task but his hair was rather long. After a while Viktor shifted his weight to one foot, grimaced.

“What happened to the braid you had done once you got here?”

“I took it out,” Yuuri admittedly sheepishly. “Pretty soon after your servants braided it, actually. I’ve never had my hair done like that before; it felt odd.”

“So that’s why it was undone by the time I visited you last time.” Viktor tied a ribbon at the end of the knots and leaned back, satisfied. “Well try not to take this one out until we come back. You look much more royal with your hair plaited like this.”

“I won’t. I should’ve thought of this sooner.”

Viktor only shrugged. “How were you supposed to know? I imagine your societal expectations are a bit _different_ than mine, but mine mean braids. I used to have long hair, too, like yours. I always had to braid it, so I remember how to do it. Though, I cut it after that fall.”

Viktor frowned for a brief second before tapping on Yuuri’s shoulder to stand up.

Yuuri tried not to remember how well aware of Viktor’s hair he had been when Viktor fell. It wasn’t exactly something he could confess to knowing now.

“Am I up to human standards, then?” Yuuri managed a smirk.

“You exceeded expectations.” Viktor offered him a smile in return.

The compliment wasn’t a full one, in Viktor’s opinion, though he refrained from saying more. He didn’t mention how beautiful Yuuri looked with his hair tamed and clad in more suiting clothes. How appealing black looked on him as opposed to the usual white. How well the black dress shirt and embroidered cloak accentuated his features, made him look more _royal_ than Viktor ever hoped to achieve. There was so much more to say, but he failed to in fear of upsetting Yuuri.

If Yuuri was so uncomfortable when following human standards, why compliment him when he was forced to follow them?

But Yuuri reacted in the opposite, blushing and tugging at his dress shirt. He gave Viktor a word of appreciation, voice sincere. Viktor waved it off and whistled for Makkachin to follow them.

“Everything is alright then? With…?” Yuuri didn’t bother to finish the sentence, opting instead to tighten the cloak about his shoulders.

“Definitely. No one will think twice about you. Unless they’re wondering who their tsar has suddenly taken into his company, of course.”

“Of course.”

Viktor held the bedroom door open for Yuuri then took the lead, showing him the way through the halls of Winter Palace. At the entrance, a couple of servants held the door open for Viktor while another rushed forward to follow them.

“By the way, Yuuri, I hope you don’t mind if Georgi Ruslanov joins us. Can’t leave without a guard.” Any arrogance that could have leaked into Viktor’s voice was refused, instead making his tone flat, almost annoyed.

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Yuuri assured him awkwardly. He busied himself with scratching Makkachin behind the ears, as he had seen Viktor attempt earlier.

They crossed the wide courtyard in front of the palace and fell into step as they came to the street paralleling the river. Makkachin ran ahead a few paces, though Viktor automatically called for her return the moment she stepped too far out of bounds. At times Yuuri would hurry to catch her and pet her again, enjoying the return of a dog he actually received affection from. Georgi followed them sullenly, just out of earshot.

“Does he mind being your guard or is he just always like that?” Yuuri asked after a while, glancing back at Georgi uneasily.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the latter. Though I hear he’s also getting over some bad breakup. Everyone’s been talking about it for a while, mostly because he makes it kinda obvious, I assume.” Viktor placed a finger to his lips, unsure of whether he even wanted to know this information.

“That’s… too bad.” Yuuri had never been in a relationship. Nor had he ever personally known another Vila that had been in one before.

“Hm.” Viktor shrugged it off. He tried thinking of a good change of topic before settling back on a previous one, reliable enough to default to. “I was certain you would have chosen one of my dresses.”

“Yeah, I almost did. But I figured I’d try something different. It’s kinda nice wearing something so new. And, um, how you described it, _royal_. It certainly makes me feel a bit more in place here.” Yuuri laughed lightly.

Viktor ultimately ignored the assertion that his worn clothes were _new_ , though he did raise an eyebrow momentarily. He couldn’t say this was the most concerning thing he had heard from Yuuri either. “Consider me surprised, Yuuri.”

It was lost on Yuuri, however, as Makkachin returned to his side after bounding ahead of them, stick gripped between her teeth. Viktor laughed at her pleading look, inciting a questioning look from Yuuri.

“She wants you to throw it. It’s a game.” Viktor gave Makkachin a few adoring pets. “I’m so sad, I can’t believe she chose _you_ over me. She found a stick for you and everything!”

Yuuri upheld his confused glance for an extra moment before hesitatingly trying Viktor’s suggestion. Tossing the stick a few feet away from him, he watched in astonishment as Makkachin retrieved it and whined for him to throw it again. He gingerly took it from her and repeated the motion, the surprise no less lost on him the second time she returned.

“It’s a good game,” Yuuri murmured as he threw it a third time. “And she only does this with you? She really chose _me_?”

“Well, yeah. Makkachin’s mine. Though I think she might protest to that now that she’s met you.” For all of Viktor’s mocked pain, he was delighted in watching Makkachin grow attached to Yuuri so quickly.

He certainly could relate to the instant care toward Yuuri.

“Are all of the dogs here like that?” Yuuri asked after a while, though his tone came out as more of a yelp. Makkachin had jumped up to rest her paws against him, shoving the stick closer to his face, in the time he had started speaking. Despite the surprise and ghosting fear he still felt, Yuuri was smiling widely and showering Makkachin with affection.

“Careful, Makka!” Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so heartily, even over Makkachin’s antics. “Well, there are dogs as friendly as her here. But I have some bias toward Makka. She’s a good friend.”

Yuuri nodded, humming thoughtfully. “I imagine so. I guess I’ll have to come back to visit Makka sometime.”

Somewhere off to the left, a few gulls sounded off to one another. Viktor looked toward their direction, though not to hide the gentle smile that had graced his lips at Yuuri’s suggestion.

The fondness was new. The fondness, affection, joy, fascination, life, love, everything that accompanied Yuuri and his presence was new. Viktor had tried to capture it in so many ways, in inspiring it and trying to explain it so he could grasp the full depth. How Yuuri was so many centuries old that he must have truly understood what life and love were naturally, or how Vili were known to hold so many festivals that Yuuri must have simply been an embodiment of life and love after holding such a lifestyle, or even how he had known so much pain and fear in his time that he knew to appreciate life and love fully. Because that’s what Yuuri provided to Viktor in every rapturous laugh and question for more insight. And Viktor wanted to know every facet of it. Wanted to know every cause and manifestation of it.

Every moment spent visiting Yuuri as he recovered, their few ventures to the thicket so far, were all deeply cherished. Every moment gave Viktor a sense of happiness that he had never known. It all went back to Yuuri, his brilliance and light. His life and love.

Viktor was silently begging to remain a part of Yuuri’s life, to keep drawing such inspiration from him in the hopes that someday he could reciprocate the same. Unaware that he had already been the benefactor of it for Yuuri for years.

“Makkachin would like that. I would, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I think this might be the best day to go outside,” Viktor announced, entering Yuuri’s room with more ease than during his previous visits.

Beyond the curtains thrown open and the spotless glass, the sun shone weakly in the sky. The ground was still covered in snow, and it would be for a while. There was still a wind carrying winter’s chill, and it would continue to do so for a few more months. But the advent of the sun being allowed to be seen again instead of hidden behind heavy clouds was enough of an excuse to invite Yuuri out.

Yuuri followed him more than willingly, edging on Viktor’s heels as if he had no right to run ahead. He reclaimed his perch among the trees once more and threw his head back, taking advantage of the fresh air and weather while he could. Below him, Viktor sat among the tree’s roots and leaned against its trunk. He drew one of his knees up, resting his elbow against it.

“Don’t your advisors ever get frustrated when you leave like this?” Yuuri asked after a while.

They had spent a few quiet afternoons in the thicket since their first visit.

“I’m sure they’ll handle it. I have to have _some_ choice, after all.” Viktor smiled wanly, though Yuuri couldn’t see this. “If they really have an issue, I’m sure Yura will handle it.”

“So in other words, there should be no issues,” Yuuri hummed, provoking a laugh from Viktor.

For how few times he had ventured beyond his quarters, Yuuri was quickly learning the inner workings and relations in Viktor’s palace. Perhaps it was from Viktor’s occasional complaints of his duties as tsar, or his physicians told him of their lives so that Yuuri would feel more familiar with humans, or Yuuri was just skilled at catching rumors, but he seemed to understand little details like this often. He could ask more complex questions, make comments on his own opinions, and even joke over such things.

It was refreshing for Viktor. To have someone to talk to that seemed to know enough to understand that this wasn’t the best existence. Hell, Viktor could probably confide in Yuuri how empty his halls seemed to be with confidence.

But he didn’t have to.

He was fairly convinced that Yuuri understood his dilemma, at least in theory.

“Oh, um, speaking of Yura. You probably shouldn’t talk to him tonight. He’s going to yell at you if you do.” Yuuri’s voice broke a moment of silence, startling Viktor.

“He does that every night.” Viktor paused, trying to bring himself back to the present, his reality. “How do you know he will?”

“You’ve never heard that we can see the future?” Yuuri sucked in his breath immediately after finishing the question, shocked at his words. He leaned over his branch to try and get Viktor’s attention, eyes wide and one hand up as if it could protect him from what he had said and any repercussions. When he spoke again, his voice was shaky. “I mean, I understand if you didn’t know that. It’s completely all right if you don’t! You’re the tsar. I bet you have a lot more important things to remember. I’m sorry for my outburst.”

Viktor waited until Yuuri had finished before replying, head tilted. “I have heard of that actually.”

He could hear a muffled noise of surprise mixed with fear from Yuuri, but continued.

“I’ve heard it a few times from my soldiers over the years. Admittedly, I’ve never been able to gauge whether they were telling the truth or were just building their reputations on some old legends. So, it’s true then, huh? You really can see my future? As in, right now?”

“Yes, I can. Your routine never changes much, though, so I didn’t think you’d have any interest in knowing the premonitions I’ve had unless they could help you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t withhold information from my tsar.”

“Wait.” Viktor sat up and peered up at Yuuri. “You’ve been seeing my future all this time? Ever since you came to stay here with me? Can you see the futures of my advisors, too?”

“No! No, not exactly. My abilities aren’t that strong, really. Not as strong as others in my clan. The premonitions only come to me in flashes, involuntarily. It’s not something I can do at will or skip, I guess. I’ve only seen your future, in brief moments.”

“Hm.” Viktor leaned back again, turning the words over. “Thanks for telling me what you’ve seen then.”

“My pleasure, Your Imperial Majesty.” Yuuri paused, regaining his breath and calming down a bit. But he didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. Didn’t want to let Viktor’s attention escape him on such a flat note. “Does he always yell at you? I’ve only seen it happen a few times in my premonitions, though it seems like it happens kinda often.”

“He only yells when I forget something. So, yes, always.” Viktor gave an amused laugh, shrugging it off.

“Oh.” Yuuri lowered his voice, almost hoping that Viktor wouldn’t hear him. “That wasn’t what he was going to yell at you about.”

“ _Was_?”

“You didn’t think your deciding to change your schedule, your future, would be ignored by my premonitions, did you?” Yuuri smiled slyly, which Viktor caught.

Viktor stood up and met Yuuri’s gaze, then raised his voice. “How am I supposed to know what you can do if you never tell me? You only just mentioned having premonitions. And I have no idea if the rumors of what else you Vili can do are true. The rumors about you are nice but really, I’ve failed to see whether you live up to your fame in practice.”

It was a challenge. Playful teasing. A dare considering how little he knew Yuuri still.

But Yuuri tried to hide his smile as he slipped from his branch and approached Viktor. Nerves could wreck his performance right now - they always did back home amongst his clan - but he clung onto confidence and willed himself to stay calm. There was no failing when the tsar himself was asking for a performance. Yuuri knew his place in relation to the tsar, knew to obey, even if Viktor did seem so kind.

Collecting every scrap of energy he had to give, Yuuri drew in a deep breath and tucked his hands against his chest. He kept his posture straight and his eyes closed against distraction.

And _oh_ , was his voice beautiful. With the breath he had drawn, Yuuri sang a short song with no pauses. There was no hope in Viktor trying to understand the song, the words being in a language unknown to him, but his voice and melody alone were enchanting enough. It was powerful, ensnaring, a song that echoed through the thicket and gave reality depth. Viktor watched Yuuri with wide eyes and did not dare to look away.

Nor was he the only one. The trees themselves seemed to hush so that they could listen to Yuuri before doing what he had commanded them to.

It was a short song, just strong enough to shake the branches of the trees around them, loosen some twigs and leaves enough to break away, but it was over in a moment. Viktor blinked, realizing what Yuuri had accomplished considering the leaves still searching for the ground and others grasping at their branches as they knocked against each other.

It was astonishing for a human, though a bit pathetic for a Vila.

“Yuuri! That was amazing!” Viktor clapped and turned to him, smiling brightly. “So Vili really do have control over the wind! It was so short, though. Can you hold it for any longer?”

Yuuri knelt to the ground, head bowed. All of his energy had been spent willingly, though he didn’t have much to give in the first place. Breath was not easily caught again and the world seemed too faded, the colors too muffled.

“Yuuri?” Viktor leaned down and offered him a hand. His cheering and joy had been cut short the second he realized and remembered Yuuri’s less than stellar condition. “Should I take you back to your room? I’ve carried you before, I can— ”

“No.” Yuuri shook his head and leaned back against his heels so he could peer up at Viktor. Could prove that he would be all right this time. “I just need to get used to it again, that’s all.”

“Really?” Viktor deadpanned. “You don’t look like you’re even used to _living_ right now.”

Yuuri waved him off, edging away from the hand Viktor still insisted on offering him. “No, I’m fine. I won’t ask you to burden yourself with me. I don’t want anyone to. Back home, before my premonitions started, I never forced any of the soldiers to stay just so I could catch up with the others. Phichit always told me to, but how could I? What if I never got the premonition and just wasted their time? So I let them go. And if I won’t inconvenience a soldier, I am _not_ going to ask even more of my _tsar_.”

Letting his hand fall back to his side, Viktor kneeled next to Yuuri. “Yes, I’m you’re tsar. But you’re also a much more powerful spirit. At least, when you’re healthy. So perhaps instead of upholding that silly tsar and subject complex, we can figure something else out.”

It was enough to get Yuuri to meet Viktor’s gaze, to notice his small smile.

“I won’t be your tsar anymore. I won’t have you push yourself beyond your limits just because of my requests, so I won’t be your tsar. But is there anything else I can be for you?” He leaned closer to Yuuri, relaxed around him. “I don’t know how Vili society works, but I’ll be what you want me to be. A son figure? A lover?”

Because that was his life, wasn’t it? Viktor was everyone’s tsar. He was subject to their demands and desires and protests. Subject to changing times and any rising opposition. Subject to spirits and enemy tsardoms and any other threats that arose. Subject to being what everyone needed him to be, wanted him to be, until all he had was the empty title. What tsar could deserve the title if they didn’t fit themself to the will of the tsardom, to change with every little problem while still remaining the guiding voice? He deserved the title more than anyone. That was how he knew just how empty it could be.

But Yuuri.

The unfettered spirits at the edges of his tsardom never seemed like they were under his power. They didn’t participate within society and yet they could be so essential. They didn’t know the name of their tsar even though they could be at the mercy of their tsar at any given moment. Their society was their own, their lives completely independent. Viktor had never had any delusions about his influence over them; he just wished to offer them his protection regardless. It was what any good tsar would do: protect their people.

But Yuuri.

He had lived so cleanly outside of Viktor’s sphere of influence, and yet he had still known Viktor’s name. Even Yakov’s name. Yuuri was no subject of his, no, not when he didn’t abide by the laws of the land or ever paid tribute to the tsar. He was as distant from the tsardom as Viktor was to the Vili, knowing only vague facts and skewed names. But that was more than any other Vila had known before, from what he gathered at the word of his soldiers.

Yuuri wasn’t a subject to Viktor. Not like the rest of his tsardom was. Yet he had made an effort to understand Viktor’s world over the past few weeks and for years before that. He had had enough trust in Viktor to stay during his recovery when even a household spirit would have fled in fear.

Yuuri was more than a subject. He was independent, and took steps of his own accord to understand Viktor _and_ his world. He was easily more powerful than Viktor and yet conceded to him, tried to abide by his customs and pay the respect he believed due to the tsars. He learned of them and reached out in acknowledgment of both sides.

Yuuri met him halfway, as an equal, whether he realized that or not.

“What? No!” Yuuri cried, jolting in surprise. “I don’t want you to change yourself for me. If you won’t be Tsar Viktor, then please just be Viktor.”

The brief look of disappointment that had clouded Viktor’s features cleared quickly. He stood up and offered his hand to Yuuri once more. “Deal. But you get to call me _Vitya_ now.”

Yuuri hesitated for only a second before accepting Viktor’s offer and letting Viktor pull him to his feet.

“Thanks… Vitya.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We need to talk.”

Yuri leaned against Viktor’s bedroom door. The grey light of morning was dimly filtering through the curtains and the distant cries of gulls could be heard with silence. At this hour the palace would only be quiet for a little bit longer before being absolutely drowned out with daily life and tasks.

Viktor had been awake for a while, though he never gave any indication of it. Only Yuri’s harsh voice was enough to get him to finally sit up in his bed and face the day. Beside him Makkachin sat up as well, giving a low whine at Yuri’s abrupt entrance.

Before Yuri could continue Viktor did his best to wave off thoughts of the previous day with Yuuri. It was to little avail.

“This couldn’t wait until I was up for the day, Yura?” Viktor ran a hand through his hair and threw a questioning look at Yuri.

“No, you should be grateful I’m talking to you about this at all.”

“And what is _this_ exactly?”

Viktor’s memory flickered back to Yuuri’s premonition the day before: Yuri was going to yell at him about something, but something different than usual. Different enough to catch Yuuri’s attention and feel the need to warn Viktor.

He shifted in his bed, wearily ready for whatever Yuri had to say.

“You need to stop spending time with that _Vila_.” Yuri’s voice dripped with disgust.

Well, perhaps Viktor wasn’t ready for _this_ after all. He shook his head and kept his eyes on Yuri, waiting for more. An explanation, a correction, anything to latch onto. There had to be a mistake somewhere in that command.

“If this is about my being distracted at— ”

Yuri cut him off with a loud groan. “Are you really that daft?”

A sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, maybe you weren’t paying attention, but I listened to Lilia Ilyinichna. That old witch knows what she’s talking about when it comes to those other spirits. She told us Vili are _seductive_. As in, they lure you in with their beauty and we never see you again. They’re absolutely sick.” Yuri’s voice remained hard. He moved past Viktor’s doorway and stood over his bed, glaring.

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“And Yuuri doesn’t actually care about you. He’s just trying to seduce and probably kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical A/N:   
> \- Winter Palace is in St. Petersburg, you can find a picture of it [here](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/20/68/86/2068865f367add3a1d456ad0b854dc55.jpg).   
> \- Poodles are German dogs and didn't start being bred in other countries until after the era this story takes place.  
> \- In Russian culture, it's more proper to call someone older/etc. by their first name and patronym, so I used unofficial patronyms for our teacher Lilia and guard Georgi.


	2. confront

_a promise can’t be broken_  
_your word is as good as mine_  
_i have to hold you to it_  
_but i trust you_  
_and i know you’ll do the same._

* * *

 

 

When someone has been visiting another nearly every day then suddenly stops, it’s pretty noticeable. There might be a reasonable explanation behind it, a promise of future returns or a clean break. Some solace in the definitive.

Yuuri received no such explanation.

The day after Viktor told him to call him _Vitya_ was also the last day Viktor visited him for a while. A couple days of absence was normal, to be expected of a tsar preoccupied with his work, but after a week there was no more hope of denial. Part of him worried. The absence gnawed at him even though logic dictated that there was a sound explanation.

He fretted over Viktor anyway.

And he waited.

Near the close of the second week of silence, Yuuri finally dared to call attention to himself and his questions.

“Is there anything wrong? In the tsardom, I mean?” Yuuri asked one physician.

“No, everything is well.”

“So, Tsar Viktor isn’t busy with some disaster or other?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is Tsar Viktor well, then?”

“Of course he is. Our tsar is as healthy as ever.”

“He’s been avoiding me. Do you know why?”

“Why would I? You need to speak to him or one of his advisors for such knowledge. Tsar Viktor owes no one information, and it would do you good to remember that. He is perfectly at liberty to keep secrets.”

“I know, I just— Can I speak to one of his advisors? Please?”

Christophe sat down next to Yuuri that evening. Yuuri had never _not_ seen him exude confidence though now some tension of acknowledgment was hinted at in his expression, how he folded his hands and leaned away. He repeated every question he had presented to the physician, hoping there would be some new enlightening information, and Christophe answered everything.

Yet none of his answers diverged from the physician’s and in the last Yuuri was forced to ask, “You must know Tsar Viktor well. Why is he avoiding me?”

“Hm, don’t you know? The _Little Tsar_ is keeping him away. Quite annoyingly, too.”

“Um, _Little Tsar_?”

“Yuri. His younger brother. The rest of us call him that because he acts like it. Surely you’re aware of how temperamental he is? Well anyway, he finally put his foot down. He doesn’t like Vili very much. And I’m pretty sure he _hates_ you. He got fed up with Vitya spending so much time with you and has been keeping him away ever since. Giving him more work, trying to convince him that you aren’t a good spirit, things like that. Honestly, I’m just surprised he didn’t start sooner. But he did. That’s why Vitya hasn’t come by; Yura won’t let him.”

Christophe nearly shrugged off the answer before catching Yuuri’s distraught expression. One of horror and pain and desperation and confusion. He turned his attention back to the topic, scrambling for something more positive to say.

“I wouldn’t worry, though. Our _Little Tsar_ might be keeping him away for now, but Vitya doesn’t give up that easily.” Christophe offered Yuuri a more encouraging smile. “From what I understand, Vitya really liked spending time with you. He’ll be back as soon as he can.”

Yuuri thanked him for his time and Christophe took his leave.

Doubt clouded Yuuri’s ability to wholly believe him.

 

* * *

 

 

When a person returns, it is also fairly noticeable if they are uncomfortable. Distance is maintained, formality seeps into their voice, and reality seems twisted ever so slightly. This is how Viktor greeted Yuuri a week after Christophe’s visit.

Worry and anxiety had blinded Yuuri more than he cared to admit to himself, just as it always had. It pried on his very nature until even the mundane premonitions of Viktor disappeared under the stress. In the end, he supposed that was for the best: if he was going to be rejected by the royal family, he should have the decency to stay out of their affairs. The premonitions had always been involuntary, but he was never more grateful than now that they administered themselves, disappeared of their own accord.

What more blame could be placed on Yuuri? He was worried of his tsar, a friend, and he had gotten it to stop there.

“I was talking with your physicians.” Viktor paused, edged closer to Yuuri. “They said you’re well enough to go home now. They’re sure of it. So, whenever you’re ready, I can call a driver and have them take you back. Don’t feel rushed, of course, but you’re free to go now.”

He hesitated, something more beyond his forced polite expression that Yuuri didn’t fully comprehend. Finally, he reached up and removed the locket he wore about his neck.

“Here,” Viktor held out the locket before continuing, “this belongs to you. I was just holding onto it for safe-keeping. But you should have it back before you leave.”

Yuuri accepted the locket with some confusion. He had never owned a locket; none of the Vili wore jewelry. Yet Viktor insisted on it belonging to him. He ran a finger across its gilded face, over the golden etching of a _V_ and resting against the clasp on its side. It didn’t even look familiar.

“Oh, open it,” Viktor said, as if finally remembering that detail.

Nodding, Yuuri complied and loosened the clasp. Inside the lost lock of his hair was wound, braided and secured. The lock that had almost killed him, had turned him away from his home for weeks and into the company of complete strangers, of a world different from his own.

“I’m not sure if it would do any good. Or if this is just an insult for Vili. Or… However else this can be taken. But I thought I’d keep it just in case.”

Yuuri nodded again, numbly, then clicked the locket shut once more. He offered it back to Viktor. “I’d rather not save this, to be honest. But you can keep it; it’s not like I have much else to return to you as payment for all you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t worry about that! It’s my job to look out for others.” Viktor glanced at the locket before taking it from Yuuri’s hand gently. It remained in his hand for some time before he clasped it about his neck again. “Thank you, though.”

A pause. What could Yuuri say?

“Anyway. Just… Let someone know when you’re ready to leave. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Yuuri.” Viktor offered Yuuri a weak smile.

He left the room before Yuuri could respond.

What could Yuuri say?

Yuuri was a Vila. A spirit on the fringe of society, unfettered by civilization and decency. Kin of those who murder trespassing humans without remorse. At least, that’s what all the urban myths said of them. Of the family known for its violence. Of bad reputation.

There was a defense, an explanation, to every accusation but there was no guarantee of their striking knowledge and understanding into the accusers.

Bad words and tarnished reputations take their hold sooner or later. The friend who learns another is heartless will either confront it or drift away, their trust obsolete. There was no turning the bad blood into good. Perhaps Viktor and Yuuri had not been on the most familiar of terms, but this was enough. Yuri’s words were enough to keep Viktor away, to break the fledgling trust. He had realized at the last to not trust Yuuri and severed the relationship.

And how could Yuuri blame him? For listening to the warnings and trying to protect himself?

Christophe had been wrong. Even if he did visit once more, Viktor had given up on Yuuri.

Maybe that was for the best.

There has to be trust in a relationship, a friendship. There has to be a guarantee of understanding and not letting all the bad words sink in indelibly. Where was the guarantee here? When Yuri no doubt told Viktor every scrap of condemning information of the Vili until he was convinced to put his self-preservation first.

And here’s the thing: Yuuri had to piece this all together. From Christophe’s words and Viktor’s distance. He was unusually fortunate to have known Viktor’s name beforehand; how could he know what humans believed of Vili? All of their rumors were left unknown to him. The rumors of how they killed humans for no reason. How they seduced humans for amusement then cast them away ruthlessly.

Everyone has their own side to one story. Yuuri’s was one of fear and awe of humans. In all the centuries he had made a home of the forest, for most of them humans were a threat. They fought over his homeland as if they alone had claim on the area. They shed blood and set up their bases not far from where the Vili lived for years at a time. They chased away his clan as an unsavory species, a blemish on their civilized lands. They threatened the Vili until they were killed in defense. They feared the Vili, left them gifts of appeasement, as if the Vili could never love them most sincerely. It was all terrifying in Yuuri’s view.

Until Viktor’s family had promised them peace. Had promised understanding and respect.

And Viktor had promised _love_. He had spent days with Yuuri and tried to get to know him. They had levelled with each other, had become something akin to friends. At least in Yuuri’s opinion. It was enough for Yuuri to wish that he could spend the rest of eternity in the palace, uncomfortable with his environment and far from home, but at least in the company of a friend that understood him. It was a hope, a foolish one, but he held it anyway. Had trusted the unspoken promise.

And Viktor had broken that promise in the last. He had given up once he understood the story from his own perspective and not just from Yuuri’s word.

But the Vili were not violent or manipulative by nature without cause.

Nor was Yuuri.

But terrifying times call for adaptation. Sometimes that adaptation, those attempts of self-defense, are converted into bad words and reputations until the truth could not be picked out from the lies.

From Christophe’s words and Viktor’s actions Yuuri tried to understand why humans could hate the Vili so much. And if they truly feared the Vili as Yuuri feared humans, then he could understand why Viktor opted out of the relationship. He could acknowledge why the _tsar_ would break relations with a Vila upon learning the truth. There could be no more trust there; history had ensured that.

The actions were understandable, reasonable, forgivable. Yuuri would leave without question.

Because Viktor had given up on him.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor tapped his fingers against his windowsill, forehead resting against the glass. The sun had disappeared behind grey again, tinting the world in dark monotone even at midday. Snow still layered itself against the ground and promised frigid conditions to those who dared step outside.

It was a pretty good explanation as to why his servants were rushing to collect every spare blanket and cloak for the sleigh. They were doing all this on Viktor’s orders, despite his knowing that the whole effort was unnecessary for Vili.

Vili don’t notice the cold, as Yuuri had said.

He watched as they prepared everything for Yuuri’s departure, Yuuri standing to the side the whole time. Yuuri either was there to see if they needed any help or he couldn’t wait to leave, by Viktor’s figuring.

The morning had been one long internal debate. Despite having already said his goodbyes to Yuuri, he struggled to decide on whether he should also see him off. Part of him knew to let the whole affair end on the formally polite note he had set while another part yearned to confront everything he knew and needed to know.

This decision was solely his; he already knew what Christophe and Yuri would say. Christophe would tell him to speak to Yuuri one last time because that was what he wanted. Yuri would tell him to forget Yuuri because that was what he needed. So, he asked neither of them and tried to come to a conclusion on his own.

Who could possibly drive Viktor to a decision?

Yuuri could fill in his own side, could help set Viktor’s decisions in the long-run, but that was only if Viktor made the first move.

So, he had remained there all morning with instructions that no one disturb him.

After Yuri had reminded him of the Vili’s nature, it had gnawed at Viktor. Lilia Ilyinichna _was_ a trusted source for them and he _did_ faintly remember her brief warnings years before with some prompting. And for all the time he had spent with Yuuri, he still knew little of the Vili, of their tendencies and culture. Who was he to reject the knowledge of others so quickly?

Although the information didn’t seem applicable to Yuuri immediately, it did the more he mulled over it. Or, more accurately, his internalized fears of Yuuri leaving were explained and soothed within this framework.

Viktor had been dreading Yuuri’s eventual move home though he knew it would happen sooner or later. There was no reason to pretend otherwise. It frayed his nerves, sent him into fantastical rants to himself on how to convince Yuuri to stay. Only, Yuuri would leave, and Viktor needed to start coping with that.

The framework of this information gave him a way to do just that.

It also tore his confidence to visit Yuuri from him.

Stories of the Vili, outside of the fortunate soldier, had always been harsh. Viktor had remembered that the Vili could seduce humans from the outset, but he had only been able to put that part into its rightful place since completing his knowledge.

They not only _could_ seduce humans, they sought it out as pure amusement. As a game to be played and won. And in the end, how could this be surprising considering the Vili’s true nature? They were known to kill humans over broken promises. Or over their disturbing the Vili during their nightly dances. They were known to make humans dance with them until they expired from weariness over these offenses. There was no choice in the matter: the Vili could sing songs to make humans dance for them, songs not unlike the one Yuuri had sang to draw up the wind.

If he could sing such songs, control the wind, and be killed by having his hair plucked just as the stories told him, surely Yuuri could do the rest.

Maybe Yuri had gotten it all right. Yuuri was simply using Viktor for amusement while he had the chance. He was biding his time until he was well enough to seduce Viktor completely then finish the job he had started.

Or maybe it wasn’t even that sinister, as close to the prediction Yuri had spun. Maybe Yuuri was amusing himself with one of the few ways he knew how while he was recovering, bored with the rest of his daily life. He didn’t really care about Viktor, didn’t want to spend more time with him than he had to, and wouldn’t look back once he could leave. It was a game. And Viktor was just an easy target.

The latter explanation, prediction, made sense for Yuuri, didn’t it?

It was enough for Viktor. Once the explanation had been contrived by his mind and Yuri’s echoing words, he made the connections that were now so blaringly obvious.

Yuuri had shown respect to Viktor as his tsar and showed understanding in the workings of other human culture, because he was trying to keep Viktor interested. To not offend Viktor before he _could_ get offended and order him away even though the rest of the Vili had never shown the same knowledge or care.

Yuuri had warned him not to talk to Yuri on that last day because he knew what Yuri was planning to tell Viktor. Needed Yuri to not expose the full truth of the Vili while he was still playing Viktor, even though it called for manipulation and lies. It wasn’t out of concern for Viktor and his happiness. It was to protect Yuuri and his sport.

Yuuri had sung for Viktor not because he had requested it, but as a taken opportunity to show Viktor how beautiful and powerful he was. How much damage he could cause, even after _just_ escaping the edge of death. It was a warning that Viktor was never supposed to catch and surely could never resist.

Yuuri had pestered his physicians and even Christophe for news of Viktor, answers to why he was no longer visiting, because he was bored. Wanted to keep playing his game. And Christophe had said the wrong things, could have made it worse if Yuuri was even more sinister than Yuri predicted. Christophe had let Yuuri know Viktor was aware of the Vili’s true nature, then given him hope that Viktor would return. Promised Yuuri’s bait would return. How could Viktor trust his desires, though, when logic had provided him with such a warning?

But then, when had logic ever served Viktor for the better?

Viktor was a powerful tsar because he knew how to pacify his people most thoroughly and effectively. He could change himself to their whims without second thought. Logic had gotten him this far, given him such an effective system while enslaving him to the work in the meantime. Without his notice.

Now, at twenty-seven years old, Viktor could look back and find all the ways logic had failed him. His work came before his life so he was lonely, to the point where he was willing to find company with a _Vila_. He had changed himself for others until he felt so bare and empty, to the point where he only started to find himself when talking with a _Vila_. He had inadvertently distanced himself from the world until he was disconnected with it, to the point where he related more to the solitary _Vila_. Viktor had unconsciously been yearning for something so much more because of all the unhappiness logic and strategy brought him.

And Yuuri had eased that. It had been temporary but it was obvious. Yuuri had seemed to fill in all the gaps in Viktor’s life.

If logic, this framework of understanding the world, had driven him to this point, of abandoning _life_ and _love_ , then it was time to let it rest. There was nothing to say it had explained Yuuri correctly, not without actually understanding _Yuuri_ more. How could he say it explained away his fears of losing Yuuri adequately? Yuuri might have sway over Viktor in his presence, but such information failed to explain why Viktor missed him even _away_ from his presence, when his senses should have returned. It failed to address Viktor’s loneliness and all the kind moments he had shared with Yuuri that he could not pin any underlying meaning to.

It was time to take another side: Yuuri’s side. Even if it was just a game, the epitome of Viktor’s fears, he couldn’t live on knowing he had temporarily tasted happiness then let it slip away. He would rather it be a game and have his life end happily. Because Yuuri had been so bright, intoxicating, beautiful, kind, comforting, everything else Viktor had ever needed and wanted.

Viktor tapped his fingers against the windowsill again, sighed. The cold seeped through the glass effortlessly, though he didn’t entirely mind it.

It was time to do something truly unexpected and selfish.

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re almost finished; just a few more minutes.”

Yuuri snapped his attention back to the servants and nodded at their warning. They had been daring furtive looks at him since he had joined their company, unsure of how to address him, of what to say to him. He was obviously different from the guests they usually catered to, but he had the tsar’s approval and so they treated him with courtesy.

“You didn’t have to gather so many blankets,” Yuuri protested, wincing slightly when he realized that most of their tasks seemed to be aimed toward refitting the sleigh just for him.

“It was on Tsar Viktor’s orders,” one answered while passing by.

Yuuri leaned back against the palace's walls, tried to stay out of the way as he waited. The efforts were excessive but he doubted they would disobey the given orders. He folded his hands, kept still, uncomfortable with how little he could do at this point. One of the servants stood next to him, a cloak slung over their arms that Yuuri had been rejecting, ready to hand it over to him at his word. Yuuri barely noticed when the snow started falling again; when had he ever shivered despite his thin white dress?

“We’re finished. Are you ready?” the driver told him at last.

Yuuri nodded automatically and followed them to the sleigh. He waved off any help, last minute offers of cloaks and food and drink, understanding that this was their livelihood yet flustered by the constant attention. Droned words of gratitude and forced smiles to try and shake the servants off.

Tucking himself into the corner, making a point of distancing himself from the driver for both of their sakes, Yuuri leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Now was not the time that he wanted to be aware of his surroundings.

He would be home soon. He would be back with his clan and their festivals, merrymaking, days of solitude. The years would pass quickly enough as they always had and with any luck memory of Viktor would fade. After being scorned for so many weeks he wanted to forget the lilt of Viktor’s voice when he was elated, how bright his blue eyes got when he was excited, how graceful he was even when he was solemn and withdrawn. He wanted to forget how beautiful Viktor was and how well they had gotten along.

He wanted to forget the tsarevich he had saved years before and the tsar that now possessed his love unwillingly and unknowingly.

Yet he knew this pain would never leave him, not in the slightest.

Brushing locks of his hair back behind his shoulders, Yuuri pulled his knees up to his chest. He knew the shock of his pale skin and dress against the dark upholstery of the sleigh would make his presence known well enough, but for now he pretended that if he made himself small enough the world would forget of him.

Just as Viktor seemed content to do.

At times, Yuuri envied humans for their ability to sleep. Outside of tremendous weakness it was simply not available to him. This was one of the few times he wished that wasn’t true.

“-awake?”

Yuuri jolted when he realized the voice was actually aimed at him. The constant chattering of the servants had been enough to dull the sound of human voices, but now he made an effort to hear this one.

“Yuuri?”

 _Viktor_.

Opening his eyes, his gaze found Viktor’s immediately. Viktor was standing over him, peering down intently with a clear expression of concern. He paused, bit his lip, before trying again.

“Are you alright? Should I call the physicians again? You don’t have to leave immediately if you’re not well.” His voice was strained, urgent.

Yuuri sat up at Viktor’s worry. He averted his gaze for a moment before replying more confidently. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m well enough to go home. And I’d hate to intrude on you any longer. Besides, my clan probably misses me.”

He gave a shaky laugh, hoping this was enough to calm Viktor.

“Okay then. As long as you’re sure…”

At Yuuri’s nod he relaxed considerably. He leaned back and let his concern and urgency weaken. While Yuuri trembled slightly from astonishment and fear, Viktor simply stood there for a moment with a finger rested against his lip.

And it was nerve-wrecking. Yuuri hadn’t expected Viktor to see him off, not after the formal farewell he had already provided. Especially not after how _uncomfortable_ Viktor had seemed at the time. What could he possibly have to say now? Wasn’t everything to be said already said, everything to be inferred already inferred? Wasn’t their relationship dissolved, any further needed formalities absolved?

It was a long moment for Yuuri before Viktor spoke again.

“I want you to come back someday. To visit me.”

For words that would otherwise have delighted Yuuri, pushed him beyond happiness, the tone was sullen. Still distant. There was little emotion in Viktor’s expression beyond determination and weariness. Yuuri was tempted to prompt him further, but Viktor continued on his own after a pause.

“I know what Christophe told you. And I want to believe you are good, someone worth being in my life and trusting. But how can I ever know that for sure? You’ve already proven that Vili are astonishing beings, Yuuri. I hope you surprise me again.”

Another pause. He sighed.

“I cannot wait on you forever. I have to know some definitive answer as to who you really are. But for now, I’ll let you return home. I promised your friend that I would make sure you would return safely and I don’t intend on breaking that promise. So, you’ll go now. And I shall send a driver to my house near the lake on the first day of every month for three months to wait for you. That way you can visit me again, if you wish. If you do not take the offer by the third month, I shall send no others and respect your wishes. By then I suppose I would have my answer.”

The slightest hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

“If you do take my offer and come to visit me, you shall have answered my first question. You will have convinced me of your being good a little bit more.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes, wondering if the offer was sincere. To be trusted. It all seemed too obvious.

“There’s no catch. I’ve laid out my thoughts plainly for you. I hope I shall learn of yours soon. I’ll be waiting.”

Viktor looked over to the driver and motioned for them to leave before Yuuri had the chance to respond. Again.

Under Viktor’s cloak, Yuuri noticed the golden chain and its gilded locket still fastened.

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s _amazing_ , Yuuri! You’ve been obsessing over the tsars long enough and now one actually wants you to visit again? I told you you’d do well if you just got yourself out there more.”

“Yeah, but— ”

“And that whole thing about him keeping your hair! Isn’t that pretty much considered romantic by humans?”

“I don’t really— ”

“So? You’re going to go back, right?”

“I— ”

“ _Come on_ , Yuuri, you have to! You won’t regret it.”

“You didn’t hear anything else I said, did you?”

Yuuri sighed and rested his head against Phichit’s shoulder. Phichit had gotten bits of Yuuri’s time with Viktor over the past couple weeks. Generalizations and neutral stories came first, then some of the negative though not yet condemning aspects of his time there, and everything else last. It was more for himself than Phichit really, a slow and gradual process to try and understand everything that had happened and had been said. An effort to come to his answer.

“What if it’s just a trick, Phichit? Isn’t it a bit odd to admit to someone that you’re just testing them?”

“Or he just wants to be honest with you, like he said.”

“ _Or_ there’s no way he’ll ever trust me now after… whatever it was that his brother told him. And my going back would be either a bad idea or a nuisance.”

“I doubt it’s a bad idea. If Viktor really is like that other tsar I would think that he would have done something already. He didn’t have to save you but he did, and he got a bunch of physicians, and told you to stay there until you were well. He had a lot of chances to do something if he really hated Vili and he didn’t take them.”

Yuuri hummed, not sure of how to deflect that argument. Luckily Phichit was just fine with rattling on without him.

“I wonder what the _Little Tsar_ said to him anyway. It sounded like Christophe didn’t think it was that bad. Maybe Viktor was just overreacting because he’s the tsar or something. Gotta protect yourself when you’re important, right? He’s probably just trying to figure out if he really can trust you.”

Phichit continued on loudly when Yuuri sat up, a refusal on his lips.

“Which he totally can! But he doesn’t know that. And it’s not like you just _ask_ someone whether they’re trustworthy. Especially after hearing something bad about them. So, he’s just trying to sort everything out. It’s a good thing! It means he likes you enough to give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“How am I supposed to prove myself when I don’t even know what he was told?”

“Hm, good point. You got me there. But we’ll work this out!”

Phichit mulled over the situation for a moment, drawing the silence out a bit longer than he probably had to.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna accept his offer. Just listen for a second! You know it’s some sort of test to answer his questions, whatever they are. If you go, he’ll probably tell you what he was asking about when he told you to come visit. And if he’s giving you chances already, you’ll probably see what upset him so much eventually. He’ll get to it and tell you and you’ll be able to prove him wrong. But first you have to start answering his other questions.”

“So I should go?”

“Yes. I just think he has something in mind and wants to prove he can trust you despite whatever he heard. Will you?”

“I have to think about it.”

Phichit sighed loudly but didn’t push Yuuri any further.

Yet, instead of taking Phichit’s advice outright, Yuuri let the first month slip by. He carefully avoided the lake and little house during the scheduled day as well as for a few days after it.

“Still thinking about it?”

“How did you— ”

“Phichit told me.”

“Of course he did. By this point even Baba Yaga has probably heard.”

“No. I think Phichit only tells Baba Yaga’s daughter this kinda stuff.”

Yuuri gave a short laugh. He didn’t know Otabek very well but there was no reason to dislike him.

“So I’m assuming you have your own opinion?”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about humans. But Phichit seems pretty confident about you going and I don’t think you’d be worrying over it so much if you didn’t want to go.”

“So…?”

“You’re running out of chances. I suppose you might as well just try. I’m sure if things don’t pan out as great as Viktor was hoping he’d just send you back to our doorstep. He _is_ the tsar. Will you?”

“I still have to think about it.”

Otabek nodded quietly and left Yuuri to contemplate.

Yet, instead of taking Otabek’s advice outright, Yuuri let the second month slip by. He carefully avoided the lake and little house during the scheduled day as well as for a few days after it.

Admittedly, the final days before the third chance were stressful. There was no more thinking to be done; logic and prediction had spent themselves. And with worry still gnawing at him the usual premonitions of Viktor had been chased away. None of these could help him reach his conclusion now.

No, now he was just trying to fathom the confidence needed to accept the invitation.

It was difficult to decide on whether to play into Viktor’s game when he had no idea what it was. Had no idea of what he was being accused of so harshly. There had to be _something_ , something so sinister in the Vili’s nature to humans, that Viktor had to step back for so long then propose this as his solution. But Yuuri didn’t know where he stood, and without understanding it’s impossible to turn the bad blood into good.

He had to defer to Phichit’s judgment: eventually Viktor would tell him what had made him so untrustworthy and damned. The game had to be played, Viktor had to feel safe again, and then Yuuri wouldn’t be left behind anymore. Yuuri would find a way to fix all of this, to reject whatever lies Viktor had learned, but first he had to take the next step. To respond to Viktor’s first move. To bridge the gap Viktor had offered him.

He had to defer to Otabek’s judgment: Yuuri wouldn’t be obsessing over this question if he _didn’t_ want to go. If he really resented Viktor for his game, for protecting himself when they really weren’t that close yet, he would have resolved to not take the invitations from the start. Yet he had spent the past two months trying to come to a decision. It wasn’t for some minor reason as knowing what he was being accused of. No, Yuuri wanted to return for Viktor. If he couldn’t forget brilliant Viktor then he had to return, confront his pain and try to ease it. And if he was being honest, that was far more preferable than forgetting Viktor, of never feeling such a joy as he did when he was in Viktor’s company.

Eventually, he would have to defer to his own judgment first and foremost. Perhaps it was because he already knew the answer that he feared going. Yuuri had known that he would accept the invitation sooner or later since before he stepped out of the sleigh.

There was his coming to terms with it, of building the self-confidence, for it.

And there were reasons for Yuuri to do just this, reasons that tipped the scales against every other fear.

Because he had known Viktor so well since he was young, though he had failed to mention that. It went beyond his saving Viktor when he fell; they have been linked ever since. Viktor had been a part of Yuuri’s life ever since, the cause of his first premonition when he had been rejecting them for years. And Viktor had been right about Yuuri on some level: he hadn’t told Viktor that he was the spirit, of how much they were linked, even when Viktor had asked. He had tried to protect himself out of panic, but he needed to set the record straight.

It was time to tell Viktor just how connected they had always been.

Because their relationship had been balanced. Viktor had saved and healed Yuuri in return years later. They had actually talked instead of Yuuri simply having premonitions of him. They had gotten along, had become friends, and Yuuri had already proven that he was willing to push himself at Viktor’s request, even for his own benefit. To summon the wind and warn Viktor of imminent lectures because Viktor was worth it. And now, everything had turned upside down from Yuuri had known. Where Yuuri had been unfairly informed of Viktor’s life in the past, now Viktor knew something of Yuuri’s life that he was not aware of immediately. His premonitions of Viktor had stopped while Viktor decided Yuuri’s future. The one-sidedness was unfair, but now Yuuri had the chance to fix everything.

It was time to balance the relationship again, to offset a threateningly long winter with summer.

Yuuri took Phichit and Otabek’s advice and followed what he knew was right, and on the third month he reached his conclusion. Early on the first day of the month, Yuuri waited on the porch of Viktor’s lakeside house and accepted the driver’s invitation.

 

* * *

 

 

“That sounded kinda… bad, Vitya,” Christophe said.

Viktor sighed and brought his hand up to cover his eyes. He had been fixated on Yuuri’s possible returning for the past two months and had forced Christophe to join him. For all of their conversations, Christophe always carried the same general note.

“It probably wasn’t the best way to present your challenge. But at least you had been honest. Yuuri will see that you’re just trying to reach out again and will come back.”

“It’s already been two months,” Viktor deadpanned.

“Which means today should be your lucky day. You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”

Viktor ran his finger over the etched surface of the locket. He hadn’t opened the locket since Yuuri had left. He had visited Yuuri’s room time and again, having ordered it to be kept vacated in anticipation for his return, and sat on his bed quietly. He had visited the thicket they had spent so many hours in, always sitting among the roots of Yuuri’s tree and replaying his memories. He had worn the cloaks Yuuri had worn, talked of him with Christophe and the physicians, and daydreamed shamelessly of their reunion. But he hadn’t opened the locket since Yuuri had left. He couldn’t bear to.

“I don’t think he liked being here. Why would he come back now?”

“Because you have trees, too, and the flowers will be in bloom soon? It couldn’t have been that bad. He _did_ recover from near-death here. If he wants to see you again I doubt anything would stop him.”

“So basically, when he doesn’t show up it really will be all my fault.”

Christophe crossed over to the window and checked outside again. Nothing, as he expected. He wished it was evening instead of just midday already. But for now, he would probably have to listen to Viktor’s fears for the rest of daylight.

“Oh Vitya, why did you let him leave like that if this is all you’re gonna do? You’ve been distracted by him ever since you met him. Yura’s gonna get sick of picking up the slack if something doesn’t change.”

“Probably. Though I bet he doesn’t mind making a lot of the decisions now.”

“Regardless. Maybe he’s just taking his time deciding, or he’s busy with Vila stuff, or something. But you’re the one who ignored him during the last few weeks, Vitya, instead of just asking for his side of the story.”

“I don’t think that’s the sort of thing you just ask someone about.”

“Well, perhaps not. You still could’ve tried. I know Yura had good reason to tell you all that, and on good authority, but we don’t know that much of Vili. Maybe it’s just some of them. Yuuri didn’t really seem like the sort to seduce someone then cast them away. And I don’t think he did that to you.”

“He would have. Or else he wouldn’t have— ”

“Alright, I’ve heard all your excuses. But think about it. Even if he was going to seduce you, he sure didn’t cast you away. He spent time just talking with you and asked about you out of concern before he left.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He asked whether you were healthy before asking why you were ignoring him. I don’t think he would have taken the time to ask if he just wanted to use you. I know the Vili stories aren’t that promising, but you need to put more faith in him.”

“I know. I know, Christophe. If he returns…”

“ _When_ he returns, you’ll trust him more and start getting those rumors out of your head. Just like you told him you would. You have to give him a better chance of defending himself this time. No more of this avoiding him because he’s more powerful than you or whatever. He didn’t seem to care when he was still calling you by your proper title or begging all the physicians for news of you. Yuuri will return because he likes you and wants to sort out your mess.”

“I feel like you have an ulterior motive, you know that?” Viktor glanced at Christophe briefly, just enough to promise that he wouldn’t give another of his worry induced rants.

Christophe shrugged and drained his glass of wine, poured another. It would be a long day, after all. “I just want you to be happy, Vitya. Everyone can tell you’re lonely and kinda desperate.”

Snatching the bottle from Christophe’s hand, Viktor poured his own glass of wine and started nursing it. Not too much, no, he couldn’t be tipsy if Yuuri decided to return. “I’m hiring a new advisor.”

“Oh, Vityenka, you don’t mean that. You wouldn’t know how to live without me.”

“Do you think Yuuri would be available for the job? He seems like he could be pretty responsible.”

“Stop, Vitya! Don’t scare me like that.” Christophe laughed and stole Viktor’s glass of wine to add it to his own. “Give this to me. Alcohol clearly isn’t good for you right now.”

Despite Viktor’s frequent and spread out complaints and unsolvable queries, Christophe stayed with him all day. He kept the wine out of Viktor’s reach and threatened to give another of his lectures if Viktor talked about Yuuri for too much longer.

“Now you’re just being unfair to yourself,” Christophe eventually said. “There’s no changing the past. Just think about how you’re gonna fix all your misconceptions about Yuuri when he gets here.”

It was almost terrifying to think about: Viktor could be the one completely responsible for their strained relationship. Yuuri could be completely innocent to the whole ordeal, either rejecting the Vila nature or being the victim of malicious lies of the Vili. But it had come to make more and more sense as the months passed and Christophe connected more and more for him, as the urgency and stress faded to be replaced by calm reason.

Viktor could have been the cruel one in all of this.

Viktor had pushed Yuuri away in fear of being cast away harshly first.

The belief that Yuuri was simply some spirit bent on seducing Viktor out of amusement rather than love had made it worse; Viktor was ashamed by such a thought even as it continued to prey on him. He ran through his list of how the rumor made sense with Yuuri’s personality. Then rejected it, reprimanding himself for not taking Christophe’s advice from the start. He should have just talked to Yuuri, and he didn’t, and he probably just made everything worse.

He couldn’t blame Yuuri if he didn’t come. If he wanted nothing more to do with Viktor. Viktor had pushed too hard when Yuuri could have been clueless the whole time.

Faith.

Christophe was right. Viktor needed to vest more faith in Yuuri before judging him again by the truth of others. He _would_ give Yuuri a chance fairly and try to have faith in him as he had before. He would fix everything he had ruined, be a friend to him like Viktor had wanted to be from the start.

“Vitya.”

He would fix this. He would retract his first step and issue a better one.

“You listening?”

He just needed to find Yuuri again. He would wait for Yuuri at his lakeside house for the remainder of his days if he had to. There was no way Yuuri would trust him now, would come to him, so Viktor would prove that he was willing to wait until he could fix everything. And he _would_ fix everything.

“ _Vitya_. You’ve been waiting months for this and now you’re just gonna skip out on it? Go!” Christophe yanked Viktor up and tugged him through the palace corridors roughly. “Yuuri is here.”

“ _What_?”

“What’s wrong with you? Shouldn’t you be excited?”

“You mean Yuuri really came? He took up my invitation? I didn’t think he’d— he’s really here?” Viktor asked dumbly, staring at Christophe. He stumbled onwards automatically, breathless.

“You didn’t hear the carriage? It’s kinda hard to miss.”

“No. I didn’t hear it.”

“Honestly, Vitya, what makes you think you could ever fire me when you can’t even hear a carriage? Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

Viktor ignored Christophe’s teasing. “And you’re sure it’s him? It’s Yuuri?”

“Yes. Unless you lended your personal carriage to someone else without telling me. _As if_.”

Viktor shook his head, not catching the fact that Christophe was jesting. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to smooth down already perfect locks. He straightened his clothes, swiped his hand over his lips just in case, asked Christophe if he looked fine. He had started trembling with his processing that Yuuri really was there. That he really did have a chance to fix their relationship.

“There. Go now.”

Christophe shoved Viktor through the front doors. The land sprawled out immensely before him, free of snow though now crowded with servants tending to the carriage and other duties. The sun wasn’t shielded by clouds this time, though the light had become softened by twilight. Winter Palace stood rigidly behind him, ornate and stern architecture legitimizing his rich clothing, his unconscious though perfected posture, despite the worry plainly staining his features. Viktor vaguely registered his gratitude for their reunion taking place at his home; he wasn’t sure he could have withstood seeing Yuuri again so far away from the comfort of home.

Because he hadn’t realized just _how_ much he had missed Yuuri until Viktor saw him.

For all of his concerns and rants on the subject of Yuuri, the emptiness of those days could never have fully gripped his consciousness. It had seeped into his bones, unnoticed, until seeing Yuuri again made them ache, made him aware of just how drenched and heavy they had become with his loss of Yuuri. Yuuri had been missing from him for too long and Viktor could not help but be painfully aware of it now. All of the emptiness and loss of those days finally weighed on him, then shook themselves off.

Because Yuuri had come to Viktor. And Yuuri meant freedom from this pain.

It was cathartic. The unnoticed emptiness that had been plaguing him had weighed too heavily. Had broken him. Only for seeing Yuuri to alleviate him of it for what felt like forever. It was the sort of pleasure that could only follow after deep-rooted pain.

“ _Vitya_!”

The relieved voice shattered the silence Viktor had forced the world into. Christophe still stood behind him, his servants chattered lowly with each other, and this voice was one he recognized so well even after not hearing it for so long.

“ _Yuuri_!”

Breathe deeply, smile with pure ecstasy, let stone reverberate against bone with every footstep.

Viktor raced toward where Yuuri stood with wild abandon, not bothering to remember the expensive cloth that was now being shredded by his boots’ heels. He dodged between his servants when they failed to fall away quickly enough. He didn’t bother to notice anything else, how his cloak caught at his ankles or his lungs burned from his labored breathing. Just Yuuri.

Just Yuuri, with his stark white dress and dark eyes and brilliant smile. After a moment, Yuuri hurried to match his pace. To Viktor’s relief there was no struggle in Yuuri’s steps, no lingering trace of the illness he had suffered from months before. He was so much healthier than when Viktor had first met him, even when Viktor had last seen him. It was another concern now resolved. Seeing him resolved a fair deal of Viktor’s concerns by itself.

“You— You’re happy to see me?” Yuuri said, reaching Viktor first. Only the lilt of his voice gave the words away as a question, as a marker of disbelief. Everything else in his tone, in his wide eyes and easy smile, suggested only joy.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Viktor responded breathlessly. He shook his head, tried to show some seriousness over Yuuri’s worry, but couldn’t rid himself of his own smile. Everything in him fluttered at being in Yuuri’s presence again.

Before Yuuri could answer, Viktor stepped forward to embrace Yuuri. He reached to clasp his hands behind Yuuri’s back, to rest his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, to eliminate the distance between them. And Yuuri responded in kind, to Viktor’s relief and delight. Viktor laughed shakily, astounded. Because Yuuri brushed his fingers against Viktor's hair, buried himself against Viktor’s shoulder, stood on his tiptoes just to make sure the distance really could be closed.

“I didn’t think you would come,” Viktor started quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

Wrong thing to say.

Yuuri ripped himself away from Viktor’s grasp, eyebrows furrowed and lips already parted.

 _Wrong thing to say_.

“You didn’t think I would? You’re the one who said you would only be convinced I was good if I came. I mean, that’s not _why_ I came, but… Maybe this was a bad idea after all. I shouldn’t have come.”

Viktor winced. Noticeably.

“That’s not what I meant,” Viktor said after a moment. He reached out for Yuuri before thinking better of it. “I just… I’m sorry I ever said that. I shouldn’t have said this was the only way to convince me you were good. I’m sorry. That’s what I meant. And I didn’t think you would come because of _me_. Not because of what I think of you.”

Faith.

Viktor was trying his best to make amends. He wasn’t the most skilled at such personal matters, and he knew he could have ruined the relationship on his words alone; he probably _did_ just ruin it. But he had listened to Christophe’s advice and condensed it, understood it for himself, and tried his best in saying it to Yuuri now.

It was one of his better plans. Surely words and time could fix this.

He just hoped Yuuri was still willing to listen.

Yuuri took a shaky breath, kept his gaze averted. “Oh… Did you still want me to come?”

“Of course, Yuuri. I’ve been waiting for you every day.”

“And you— Did I pass your first test? Or whatever you intended this as?”

Viktor bit his lip, needed time to think. “We’ll talk about that. But let’s go inside first. It’s getting dark.”

He led Yuuri inside and to his personal parlor. He sat down where he had sat with Christophe earlier and offered Yuuri a glass of the same wine. But Yuuri refused the offer and remained standing. His posture was stiff, his arms crossed. The tattered edge of his dress lapped at his bare feet, made him look so out of place and uncomfortable against the austere surroundings.

“You can sit down.” Viktor’s voice was quiet, underlined with his renewed worries.

The joy had been so nice while it had lasted. But this had to be settled.

“No. Thank you.” Yuuri swallowed. “I want to know what your questions are. I came, I answered your first question. You’ll tell me the rest, even eventually, right?”

“Yes. I will.” Viktor struggled to keep his eyes on Yuuri, to not let the guilt sway him too much as he tried to gather his response. “When I first met you, I didn’t know much about the Vili. I knew _enough_ , though, to believe whatever else Yura told me about Vili. And it made sense, kind of, in some vague sense. So I believed him and… probably messed everything up myself, really.”

“So, the questions?”

“I just want to make sure some of the stuff Yura said wasn’t true. That’s what I want to ask you. I need a confirmation or denial to some of the rumors.” Viktor steadied his voice, forced it to remain even.

“And you couldn’t just ask me when you heard them?”

“How was I supposed to word _that_? _I know we just became friends and I don’t want to ruin that, but are you planning to murder me?_ It didn’t seem like the best thing to ask at the moment. And I just— those rumors weren’t _good_.” Viktor ran his hand through his hair again.

Yuuri licked his lips. He let a few seconds pass by in silence, obviously unsure of how to respond. Then, almost a whisper: “I could’ve just lied if you asked me. Like some of the other spirits do.”

“Well, yes. Basically. At the time, it just seemed better to stay away. Then, if you did have some plan like that, you couldn’t carry it out as soon as you were well.”

“You thought that badly of me?” Yuuri seemed caught between pain and resentment, incredulous laughter and tears. He remained calm regardless, kept the trembling out of his voice.

“No! Not you, specifically.” Viktor paused, shifted uncomfortably. “Do you remember when I told you I fell from a tree once? And something healed me?”

He waited until Yuuri nodded to continue.

“That wasn’t the full story.” Yuuri snapped his attention up at Viktor with these words, though Viktor barely noticed. “I didn’t just fall. Something pushed me. Which probably sounds stupid or something, or maybe not since you’re a Vila, but I know something pushed me. It wasn’t just me losing my balance or some passing animal knocking me off the branch. Something deliberately pushed me. I remember the fingers that gripped my arm; they even left marks. And it was unnaturally cold. That sounds like some sort of spirit, right?”

Yuuri nodded for him again.

“So I thought, if some spirit has already tried to kill me while I was sleeping, why wouldn’t another get close to me as some other trick? There was no pride or honor in that first act, but it happened. And maybe you were the same way and just really good at hiding it. It’s not an excuse, I know, but… Those rumors Yura told me scared me more than falling from that tree did.”

Viktor laughed lightly, stared down at the wine in front of him.

“At least back then, something else helped me. Something else was there for me. What was gonna save me this time? I doubt there’s much hope of recovery after trusting someone as much as I wanted to trust you then learning they had just been using me. I’m not saying you were going to, but…”

“It was enough.” Yuuri sat down opposite of Viktor, voice gentle. “I wasn’t, by the way. I wasn’t going to use you, I mean. If you believe me.”

Guilt was hinted at in Yuuri’s expression and tone, though Viktor attributed it to a different reason than the truth.

“I know that now. You don’t have to answer my questions, Yuuri. I should’ve thought it over more. And I didn’t. That’s my fault.” He raised his eyes to meet Yuuri’s. “I did still hope you would come, though, just so I could see you again. I _have_ been waiting.”

“Wait. I understand that I don’t have to answer anything, but can you at least tell me what the questions were? None of this has made much sense.” Yuuri furrowed his eyebrows and leaned forward, elbows resting against his knees. “What was I answering by coming here?”

“The meaning has changed a bit. I think you could guess that. But originally, I wanted to see if you really would come back just for _me_. If you really wanted to kill someone, you would’ve had your chance eventually back home. But if you came back it meant you really were interested in me for me, as a friend. Not some game. Does that make sense?”

“More or less. And now?”

“If you came back, it would mean I had a chance to fix everything I messed up and maybe we could be friends again.”

Admitting this hope seemed so difficult, so painful, even though the words came so easily. But he needed to tell Yuuri everything so both parts would have to be easy for him.

“I like the second meaning better. Both are true but, um, the second reason is a bit closer to what I had in mind when I came.” A blush lightly dusted his cheeks.

Viktor laughed again, almost feeling comfortable again if Yuuri could say something so light-hearted like this. “I figured.”

“Alright, so I answered the first question pretty well, I think. Did I surprise you?”

It took Viktor a second to understand what Yuuri was asking. He had forgotten a lot of his words in their intervening separation and that phrase had almost joined them. “Yeah, I think you did. You must be pretty good to come back and try to work everything out with me after that. Better than good. I’m pretty sure anyone else would have labelled me as the _paranoid tsar_ or something after all that. You really are surprising, Yuuri.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to laugh. “Well, that was sorta the reason why I waited so long. Other reasons too but that was definitely one of them. I half-thought your needing me to answer some of your other _questions_ was just some hint that you were tricking me into returning to kill me or something.”

“Ouch. But I deserved that.” Viktor had tried not to wince again at Yuuri’s words.

“Eh, not really. I get it. Kinda. You just didn’t want to be hurt by another big bad spirit so you took it out on me.” Yuuri smiled at Viktor, playful, as if to try and smooth out the situation.

“Why must you wound me like this? I’m hurt, Yuuri.” Viktor hid himself behind his hands in emphasis to his words, his voice dripping with mock pain.

“The important thing is you’re learning your lesson. It’s nothing to lose your hair over.” Yuuri set a finger along Viktor’s roots, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“I take back everything now, Yuuri. You’re not a good person. You’re not even trying to seduce me to make my death easier. You’re getting straight to the point, so mean.” Viktor kept his head down and drew out Yuuri’s name when he came to it.

“Seduce you? Is that what you thought I was gonna do?” Yuuri asked, quieting his laughter to indicate that he was expecting an answer.

“Maybe. I didn’t know! Vili are a mystery to me, Yuuri. All of you nature spirits are. We don’t know enough. So, I thought maybe you really could be a _big bad spirit_ like that other one. Or were just trying to seduce me. You’re a complete mystery!” Viktor looked up at Yuuri as he tried to explain this. No malice or defense tainted his tone, only a desperate plea to not be judged too harshly, because everything he said was true.

“What— Why would anyone assume _I_ was out to seduce them? I’m not really, I mean— Seducing isn’t exactly anything I’ve ever done before. I’m not even that social back home.” Yuuri glanced at Viktor with shock at the assumption before shaking his head.

“No, this is common knowledge.” Viktor’s tone turned solemn, relaying lessons he had learned as a child. “Warning number three about the Vili: they can seduce humans.”

“ _Can_. Not _will_. Your  _common knowledge_ is muddled or incomplete or something.” Yuuri grimaced, trying to place that assumption in with the rest of his knowledge about Viktor now. He wanted to continue but stopped short when he noticed how dark the sky had gotten outside, how late the time was. “You really should get to bed. But just one more thing, I swear. Is that one of your questions? Whether I was going to seduce you?”

“Yeah, it was. I just wanted to make sense of everything, all of the stuff Yura told me and everything you said and did while you were here. I wanted to separate truth from lie. I’m still not entirely sure, but it’s not your place to fix this just because I bought into the lies too much. Once you proved that you wanted to be here as my friend, I was going to ask you about everything.” He mulled over his words for a moment before adding, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s not like that. I’m kinda surprised, that’s all. I guess in a _paranoid tsar_ way, you do make sense. You scared me, though, when that was the last thing you said to me. But…” Yuuri licked his lips again. “I think you better ask me those questions tomorrow, exactly as they were. There’s been some miscommunication here, maybe we can fix it. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Good. Now, go to bed, Vitya. I’m not sure you’ve ever stayed up this late before.”

Viktor shot a questioning look at Yuuri but ultimately stood up. “Your room is still empty. Did you need me to show you the way there?”

“No, I remember. I’m going to stay here for a while anyway.”

Viktor nodded and bid good night to Yuuri before leaving.

When morning came, he immediately went to go see Yuuri in his room, half-expecting Yuuri to have left. Or to have never been there in the first place, which somehow seemed more likely. Viktor didn’t even bother changing out of his nightwear before going to see Yuuri.

Only to find Yuuri’s room empty.

He quickly found one of his servants and asked if they knew whether Yuuri had ever gone to his room, to which he received a negative answer. Yuuri hadn’t even been through that corridor.

_So, he has left._

The words flickered through Viktor’s mind though he doused them quickly. He urged his mind to replace such suspicions with Christophe’s advice about trust.

Viktor stopped to remember everything Yuuri had said the night before. And eventually he remembered something useful.

Yuuri had never left the parlor. He was still perched on the sofa he had claimed last night, only having changed his position throughout the night so that his knees were drawn up to his chest. Nothing had been touched. The bottle of wine was still sitting half-empty on the table and the curtains were only opened slightly. Nothing had been disturbed, and the only obvious marker of time was the sunlight now gracing the room, rendering last night’s candles useless.

“So, Vili really don’t sleep?” Viktor asked, not sure of how else to start.

“No, not really.” Yuuri raised his head to look at Viktor, unsurprised by his rumpled nightwear and ruffled hair. “Go change and eat. Then we can go through your questions.”

Viktor nodded, _almost_ embarrassed by his having forgotten to change for the day. But he was too happy to see Yuuri still there, waiting for him, to mind anything much. He left the room and returned in under an hour.

“Hm. I like your hair the other way,” Yuuri declared after staring at him for a moment.

Viktor scoffed and smoothed his hair down even more. “Not funny, Yuuri. We can’t all be ethereal Vili like you.”

Yuuri only laughed at this, stuck between amusement over Viktor’s words and disbelief that even as a Vila he was particularly _ethereal_. “Well, I’m not sure about that. But I guess to humans we all are ethereal. It’s weird to think about.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know… I’m just not used to compliments, I guess. Humans aren’t exactly common where we live,” Yuuri shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense. But as a human, I can tell you that you are ethereal.” Viktor offered him a gentle smile, to which Yuuri couldn’t help responding to in kind.

“Okay. We’d better start so you can go to bed at a decent hour tonight. Ask me the questions you were going to ask. I want to answer them.”

Viktor struggled with finding the right words for a moment before shaking his head. “I never had a clear plan on how to ask them anyway. But I have a good strategy now. I’ll tell you my story and you tell me yours. That should set the record straight.”

“That sounds like a good strategy.” Yuuri leaned back against the sofa and waited for Viktor to begin.

And Viktor told him everything. _Everything_. Starting from the beginning.

He told Yuuri every detail of the day when the spirit had pushed him from the tree and the other being that saved him with gentle touch and voice. About the fear that had rested in him ever since that defied the logic he had tried to replace it with. He had filled his knowledge with facts about spirits, their functions and reasons for every act and cruelty, until he could explain away the offending spirit’s actions and forced the nightmares to stop. The tsardom’s policies over spirits already set were steadfastly clung to, a comfort against his becoming bitter to others. Because if another spirit could save him, then he could look past the evil. Because if his entire tsardom could trust spirits, then so could he. He could move on, forgive, love spirits as he had before. The nightmares stopped and the fear only gnawed on him again at the rumors over the Vili’s cruelty.

And of the days he had affectionately began to look on with nostalgia, when he was hesitantly getting to know Yuuri. Of the excitement that washed out the confusion and suspicion in the effort to know more than just the basics of the Vili. The fascination in Yuuri’s abilities and adoration over his personality, the trust he placed in Yuuri when he avoided Yuri because he had been warned to do so. Everything that defined their relationship in those early days, from where he stood.

And he repeated Yuri’s warning against the Vili, the threats of seduction and murder and apathy. The reasons behind his revoking his trust in Yuuri and his fear of being cast aside as some game. Every bad word he had heard and come to believe.

Because that was why he had become so harsh to Yuuri, and he needed Yuuri to know that it was the most foolish thing he had ever done. Perhaps, if Yuuri had never insisted, he would never have admitted any of this. He would have spared Yuuri the insults, the personal nature of the situation, the _blame_ Viktor had forced on Yuuri without question or explanation. But Yuuri _had_ insisted, and he had a right to know, and so he stumbled through it. Every bad thought he had had of Yuuri, the list of reasons behind Yuuri being one of the more wicked spirits, and come to believe.

“And… that’s it. That’s why I was avoiding you. Some really dumb rumors. I’m… I know it doesn’t make this any better, but I am sorry. I know I ruined everything.”

Yuuri looked as though he should have been spared.

Fingernails dug into the sofa fabric, crinkling the velvet before he realized what he was doing and loosened his grip. Eyes averted, head down, interspersed with his reluctantly looking back at Viktor at every pause. Jaw clenched, breathing shallow, eyes wide. Yuuri did not say a word, only listened patiently as Viktor told him of the third part of his story.

“Yuuri? Are you alright?”

Viktor had fallen silent until then, unsure as to what else he could say and wondering if Yuuri just needed a moment to process everything. But the silence had dragged on for too long, and there was nothing comforting in silence. It was nerve-wrecking and painful. He shifted, leaned forward, lowered his voice when he finally posed this question.

He tried not to wince when he caught how shaky his voice was, how strained and broken. It wasn’t the sort of quality he heard from himself often.

Finally, _finally_ , after some delay, Yuuri nodded. He unclenched his jaw and looked back up at Viktor.

“You really thought all that about me?”

Yuuri took a deep breath and held up a hand, urging Viktor to not respond.

“Don’t answer… Not now.” He swallowed and forced himself to meet Viktor’s gaze. “Let me tell you my side of the story first.”

Yuuri was certain his voice was drenched in guilt.

It should be.

Viktor had told him _everything_. He started from his so-called unrelated beginnings and worked his way through the questions he had originally wanted to pose to Yuuri. He told Yuuri every detail even when pain was the only discernible expression in his features. He had finished, had acknowledged how wrong he had been, without pawning every action off on excuses. There were reasons, motivations, not excuses.

And Yuuri wasn’t going to extend the same courtesy to him.

No, Yuuri skipped their real beginning.

Waking up with physicians crowded around him was where Yuuri began his portion of the story. He feigned confusion as over what had happened beforehand with the suggestion that the illness had deprived him of his memory. He answered everything else, proved himself innocent in Viktor’s eyes, while keeping their past a mystery as he always had.

“You mentioned not trusting me because I followed your customs. It wasn’t to keep you interested or anything. What I did know came from passing soldiers, and it was enough for me to understand that the tsars are the ones who keep our home safe. Undisturbed. I showed you respect because I was — and am, honestly — grateful for that. I would have addressed Tsar Yakov the same way.”

_Speaking of my home, don’t you know our history?_

“You mentioned my not telling you of your brother’s warning in my premonition. I didn’t know _that_ was what he was going to warn you about. I would have mentioned it if I had. Or, maybe I would’ve tried to refute it. I don’t know. I only get a few seconds in my premonitions, so just enough for me to hear him call some woman named _Lilia_ a witch. Though, in retrospect, I suppose he was yelling at you about forgetting something. I didn’t know.”

_Don’t you know how often these few seconds have linked us?_

“You mentioned my using my singing to convince you of my power. That wasn’t it. I was just doing what you had asked. _For my tsar_. Though, if you asked the same of me now, I would sing for you still. For _Vitya_ instead of _my tsar_. I don’t know how else you could take that; you made quite the leap, didn't you Vitya?”

_Don’t you know I have sung for you before, without your command?_

“I’m pretty sure you understand why that last part on your list is wrong now. I was just concerned. Nothing else.”

_Don’t you know how long I have worried over you?_

“I’m not… even really sure how to address the rest of your questions. You’re the first human I’ve ever met. I’ve never even thought of seducing or killing one. I mean, maybe the worse humans like the tsar that cut my hair, but that’s just self-defense. But we don’t get many travelers so I never think about it. I had no idea why you were avoiding me exactly. There was only what Christophe and then you told me, and that was all vague.”

_I’ve answered your full truth; will you ever answer mine?_

Viktor groaned and buried his face in his hands as soon as Yuuri had finished.

“So… I take it I passed all of your tests then?”

And it was so absurd to hear that. To be reminded of his _questions_ after they had all been discredited so easily. Absurd enough for Viktor to laugh and look back up at Yuuri.

“Yep, all of them. I can officially trust you again!”

“Good. Because I have one more test to pass. I’m going back to the lake tomorrow. Come with me.” It was a command, his voice stern and certain. Yuuri stood and left the parlor, made for the moonlit thicket without a word.

“Wait, Yuuri! Where are you going?”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ll see. Stop asking me. I couldn’t just explain it anyway.”

“But what test could you possibly— ”

“We’re almost there, Vitya. Just a few more moments.”

Yuuri rested his forehead against the window of the carriage, watching the trees pass by slowly and noticing every pit in the muddied road. It was a relief when he began recognizing the trees, the patterns of their branches and roots. And Yuuri vaguely registered his gratitude for needing to tell Viktor this in his own territory; he wasn’t sure he could withstand breaking their relationship once and for all so far away from the comfort of his home.

He still couldn’t fathom the confidence he had gathered the evening before in admitting that there was more to own up to. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to find the confidence to finish this conversation. The entirety of the night had been spent trying to figure out how he was going to explain this, how to admit where he had been just as bad as Viktor, what to do when Viktor inevitably reacted with hatred — as he _should_. It had gnawed at him all night, tore at his peace of mind.

But what peace of mind is there in guilt?

Viktor’s tests weren’t complete until Yuuri had given him the full truth. Viktor’s trust could not be won until Yuuri had given him trust in return. He wanted their relationship to be stable. He wanted to cleanse it of the rumors Viktor had heard of the Vili and that Yuuri had disproved. Viktor had held up his part of the exchange; now Yuuri had to put more effort into meeting Viktor halfway.

He would fix the relationship he had held unsteady since the beginning, even as it ebbed away at his reputation. Threatened to end their relationship. Threatened to condemn Yuuri once more to the emptiness and loneliness that characterized being a Vila more often than not, isolated and feared.

“Come with me.”

Yuuri slipped out of the carriage and made for the forest as soon as they had stopped. He looked back a few times until Viktor had hastened enough to fall into step with him, though he never stopped to wait. The path he followed had faded with the years though it was still discernible enough to follow.

It was one of the paths Viktor took in his youth.

“That story you told me, the one of your falling because of a spirit? This is the tree you fell from.”

Yuuri tilted his head back to look at the oak tree’s branches. It was a few paces from the path and separated from the rest by a small distance. For all of his searching, the branches were as immaculate as they had been from its beginning. With a deep breath, he glanced back to Viktor with the hope that he wouldn’t interrupt.

“I know you can’t really tell. There’s no damage and there never was. But I know it was this one.”

_Now you’ll know. You’ll understand who I am. What to think of me. I tell you of this because of what you thought of me, but this truth might be worse. So, I will tell you now._

“When you came here, I protected you. I knew you were our tsarevich and couldn’t be a target for some other spirit. They didn’t know about you, but I did. So, I watched you every day when you went for walks through the woods and kept every other spirit away. I even set a boundary for myself. I couldn’t let anything get close to you…

“You were why I had my first premonition. And that’s how I knew you were in danger. I saw something happening to you. I had stepped away from you for a moment to chase another spirit away. _Just for a moment_. Then I had that premonition. And ran back to you. Maybe I could’ve figured it out better, but I had to do something. I had to protect you. I tried to break your fall and I healed you when you got hurt anyway.

“And I’m so sorry, Vitya. So sorry. I tried to protect you. And I remember this was the tree.”

“Yuuri, it’s alright. You _helped_ me. You— It was _you_. Thank you, Yuuri.”

The amazement and love in Viktor’s words, his voice, his expression, was too much. He couldn’t let the realization that he had once saved Viktor sink in, not before giving away the rest of the truth. He couldn’t accept Viktor’s gratitude when he had also lost it in the years since, even if Viktor wasn’t aware of that.

“No. No, don’t say anything yet. I’m not finished.”

Yuuri grimaced, withdrew into himself. He tried his best to ignore the tears that threatened to spill and the sobs caught in his throat. If he thought about it, if he let himself succumb to the more malicious thoughts that plagued him, then he would lose this battle. He had to remain calm, at least until he had said what he needed to.

Part of remaining calm was not looking at Viktor. To see his crestfallen expression, the worried question on his lips, would push Yuuri to far over the edge.

“I can’t have you thanking me. Not yet. You don’t know the rest, but I don’t deserve this. Please, listen. After you left, I kept having premonitions. But only of you. I don’t know why, but I was always aware of you, how were you, what you were doing, after that. Only you. I saw your coronation and hiring Christophe as your advisor and your deciding to come here in five second intervals. I saw so much of your life. Moments I don’t think you wanted anyone else to know.

“And I don’t really know why you decided to come back here, but I knew. And when the other tsar grabbed me, I used my premonitions and told Phichit to get you. I didn’t know what else to do; my clan knows a lost battle when we face one. They left me to defend our territory, but Phichit stayed and I knew where you were. So, I asked him to get you. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought you’d help me, but I didn’t mean to change your life so much. I never wanted to worry you over the fact that I’m a Vila or those rumors or whatever else.

“I know I should have told you this sooner. I should’ve told you this as soon as you asked me about it when you first talked to me. Sooner. But, I didn’t want to risk it. What was I supposed to tell you? I’ve been watching you since youth and got you involved in my troubles because I could? How could you have trusted me? Or seen me as someone trying to use you? Which… I did. Just, not in the way you tried to accuse me of.”

“I’m not…”

Viktor tried to reach out to Yuuri only to be waved off. Yuuri stumbled back a few steps, escaped Viktor’s reach.

“Vitya, I think we should end this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical A/N:  
> \- hair was considered very important in Slavic tradition. if a lock of hair was believed to be magical it was kept, and of course there is an old European tradition of keeping hair of a loved one. in this sense, Viktor's keeping Yuuri's hair can be considered "romantic".


	3. reconcile

_you broke your word_  
_but i can’t leave now._  
_you spoke again_  
_i listened, trusted, again._  
_i’ll always be here for you._

 

* * *

 

 

“Phichit you wouldn't believe what humans do. They keep dogs as pets! You need to meet Vitya’s. Makkachin is so darling and sweet.” _  
_

“So, like a hound, right?”

“Kind of. But better. And friendlier. You’ll love Makkachin, honest.”

“You’re avoiding my questions.”

“Maybe it’s just not a good story to tell. I like the stories about Makkachin better.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Vitya, I think we should end this.”

Silence.

Yuuri had no more to say; Viktor was struggling to process everything that had been said. The silence was heavy, burdensome.

And Viktor knew that feeling too well. He knew loneliness, emptiness, pain, relief, worry, the breaking weight, all of it too well. He was tired of bearing these burdens between him and Yuuri. Because Yuuri was worth it, but deserved so much more. He deserved an end to their quarrels and separations. He deserved a chance to be happy with Viktor beyond just the fact that Viktor was a fair tsar.

Even more, Viktor wanted Yuuri and him to be happy. Together. He wanted to mend their relationship, to have his dearest friend back. Though, this time, they’d build everything on truth and trust.

So he broke the silence because Yuuri wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t bear the burden of their separation anymore.

“What?”

The word of disbelief was all he had the energy for.

“Um…”

“What did you mean by _that_?”

Yuuri clenched his hands at his sides, swallowed. “I just… Neither of us deserves this anymore. Especially you. You’d be better off not worrying about me. You need to be the tsar and not worry about one Vila. You need to be there for your tsardom, and the rest of the world, and I’ve been taking your time. And I shouldn’t have. You can focus on being the tsar again.”

There was no helping it. Where Yuuri had been adept at keeping himself from crying, Viktor couldn’t help it. He bowed his head for a moment, let the first tears fall without his noticing. And when he lifted his head again, he was too preoccupied with trying to change Yuuri’s mind to register the look of shock on Yuuri’s face.

Viktor had felt so much pain since saving Yuuri, and he was worth it, but something needed to give. Their relationship had to be strong like he had thought it once was. They just needed to get to that state, and they would.

They just had to dissolve the remaining tensions.

When Viktor lifted his head, Yuuri stepped forward. Viktor crying was something he had never wanted to see, let alone cause. He reached up to brush a few locks of Viktor’s hair from his eyes.

“You’re crying? I didn’t expect you to be so upset.”

Viktor forced Yuuri’s hand away, hardened his voice and expression. “Of course I’m upset. All of this effort and waiting and you just told me you wanted to end this because of some _excuse_.”

“It’s not an excuse. You need to be the tsar again, Vitya. And I belong here anyway. We never would have worked, even without the other issues.”

“Who knew you were so selfish?”

Yuuri paused, anguish and shock. He tried to gather his words, his thoughts. “It would be better for _you_ …”

“Enough about me, Yuuri!”

Viktor grabbed Yuuri by the wrists, forcing him to pay attention to his next words carefully.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m surprised you’re coming with us, Beka.” Yuuri bit his lip, glanced at Otabek with growing curiosity. “Though, maybe that’s just because we’re not that close.”

“Oh, Beka? Of course he’d come.” Phichit leaned forward, accepting this change of subject. An amused grin was already tugging at his lips. “Besides, we had to make sure only another respectable Vila would come. I love Guang Hong and the others, but just look at Beka. So serious and rigidly polite. He’ll fit in perfectly at Winter Palace. Right, Yuuri? I’m just going off what you told me!”

Yuuri considered it for a moment before nodding. “You have a point. If we’re gonna be trying to convince the rest of the tsardom that we’re not just heartless murderers, we should probably have someone like Beka. You’re enough excitement for the rest of us combined, Phichit.”

“Yes, and someday the humans would come to appreciate that as well. But for now, since we can’t scare them and all their boring customs off yet, we have Beka to balance it out.”

“I can be respectable, too, you know.”

“Can’t dispute that personally. But you put our dear tsar through so much recently that I doubt anyone else feels that way. _Especially_ Vitya.” Phichit winked at Yuuri, who tried to let that slide. For now.

“So. What’s Winter Palace? And you never even let Yuuri finish the story on dogs. I wanted to hear that,” Otabek interjected, raising an eyebrow.

Phichit couldn’t help but laugh. “Winter Palace? It’s nothing. Just where half of the drama Yuuri has ever faced in his entire life took place. You’ll have fun.”

“I was gonna say it’s where Vitya lives, but that… I guess I can’t argue.” Yuuri sighed and pointedly ignored Phichit from there on. “Alright, since Beka asked. The first thing you need to know is that Vitya’s dog is a _poodle_ , and she’s named Makkachin. Someone named Emil gave her to him several years ago as a diplomatic exchange, whatever that means. But anyway, Christophe told me this one story when he was checking up on me during my first time there, and the whole thing was pretty funny to me. So, Vitya apparently sleeps with Makkachin— ”

“So like how Phichit _sleeps_ next to those hamsters he collects when they’re sleeping?” Otabek deadpanned.

“Exactly!”

“Watch yourself, Beka. Two can play at this game.” Phichit jabbed a finger at Otabek’s shoulder teasingly.

“I don’t know, Phichit. I think Beka already won.”

“Yuuri!”

“Please continue about Makkachin.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Enough about me, Yuuri!”

Yuuri would have struggled against Viktor’s hold, would have loosened the grip on his wrists and stepped back a few steps by force. But instead he stilled as Viktor continued. He wanted to break away, to silence the world and his thoughts, but he needed to listen to Viktor more. So he only leaned away in shock and listened just as Viktor had intended.

“You _just_ told me that we’ve been connected for years and now you want to end it? Forget about the tsardom, it’s fine. But how am I supposed to react after everything and now you just want to _leave_?”

The tears stained his cheeks, strained his voice, but he had to continue. Viktor kept his hands on Yuuri’s wrists, letting the tears fall freely. It was the least of his worries. It was nothing compared to trying to nudge Yuuri into realization, his reasoning. Into understanding how _painful_ his words were.

“I almost quit being a tsar because of you. And I didn’t even know that, though maybe you could guess. But paying proper respect to the spirit who _saved_ me, of trying to respect whoever saved me as someone worth so much more than what the childhood warnings say, always seemed to be more pressing than many other issues. I was able to become tsar because of them — because of _you_ — and that was worth pausing my life for a while, once I knew Christophe and Yura could cope without me. At least to say a proper thank you.

“I came here a few months ago to find the spirit who had saved me. I didn’t want to leave until I found them, even if it took forever. I wanted to thank them for everything, their healing touch and reassuring voice. And now here you are! And you want to cut this link. I could understand it, Yuuri, I could leave, for any other reason. But you’re suggesting this over reasons that aren’t even important to me and shouldn’t concern you so terribly, or that we could fix. We can work through this; we’ve been connected so long, we could figure it out.”

“Vitya…”

“ _You came back for me_. That’s the first thing I remember you saying to me. It was after I got JJ to let go of you, and you woke up just long enough to say that. I’ve been wondering what you meant, and you answered that just now. You saved me; I came back for you. To help you.”

Viktor loosened his grip on Yuuri’s wrists. Much of his words had blended old knowledge with new realizations. He was admitting truths he had only learned, understood, just moments before.

“I did, Yuuri, I came back for you. In every sense. We’ve had a connection since the beginning. I wish you had told me sooner, I _would_ have liked to know that, though right now I’m still trying to process there was anything to tell at all. That you remembered me just as much as I remembered you. Even more so. And now you want to end it because I’m the tsar? Because our lives are too distant? I’ve been willing to quit being tsar since before I really met you, Yuuri.”

There was so much more that Viktor was beginning to connect and understand, even dimly, about their past and present. Half-developed thoughts that would either finish themselves now or return to him in the night, things he couldn’t voice yet. He wanted to analyze everything, to let it all seep in until it was inseparable from his own memories of past events.

Until the connection between Yuuri and the kind spirit were irreversibly reconciled, how Viktor had owed Yuuri his life and he had unknowingly repaid the debt. How strong Yuuri’s abilities were to have seen so much of Viktor’s life, though in the end it was Viktor’s memory alone, the desperate gratitude and burning adoration toward the kind spirit, that sparked their reunion. All of the details now falling into place on how Yuuri had understood his world so well. All of Yuuri’s words, at times so offhand and others so cryptic, that were now returned to their context. Until all of this was smoothed down in his memory.

“I wanted to find you, repay you, when I couldn’t clearly remember your voice. I came back for you, as I had always wanted to. And I’ve been worrying over you since before I knew you were a Vila or any of the bad traits associated with the Vili. I don’t know why you’d think you’re bad for me just because of differences we can resolve or reconcile or something; that’s not the case at all, Yuuri. I was willing to give up everything for you before. Why wouldn’t I now that I know you even better?”

Yuuri stood silent for a moment, almost reliant on the assumption that Viktor would speak again. He needed Viktor to speak again, to drown out the rest of the world and help Yuuri realize everything that had happened. To reassure Yuuri that this relationship wasn’t one-sided. To prove beyond doubt that Viktor wanted to be here, tear-stained and laying his entire past and motivation bare but willing to do it instead of feeling compelled to. Once Viktor stopped, Yuuri would have to respond. He couldn’t stay silent and wide-eyed anymore, not as the silence expanded, lengthened the distance between them.

He stood there, silent and unresponsive, for too long regardless.

Even if he dared to try, he doubted he could ever find the right words. Viktor needed him to soothe the pain just as he had done years before, but he couldn’t fathom the idea of responding to Viktor’s confessions in words. So, his mind remained blank; it was of no use to him now.

Instead of rationalizing it all out, of composing a proper response to Viktor with counterpoints and persuasion, he kept his mouth closed and his mind mercifully blank. He acted on instinct, in confidence, because this was the only way he could ever achieve what he wanted to, needed to.

Closing the distance between them, Yuuri gently brushed Viktor’s tears away. He willed the sorrow away, knowing too well that only he could do such a thing after all Viktor had said. He kept his hand in place, cupping Viktor’s cheek as he carded his other hand through Viktor’s hair. He couldn’t speak; he needed to be comforting. He couldn’t think; he only need be aware of Viktor right now.

Wait a moment, let the renewed stillness be a comfort over a concern.

Yuuri kept his fingers locked in Viktor’s hair, his thumb lightly tracing Viktor’s cheekbone. He wouldn’t move, no, he almost feared that if he moved their argument would crash in on them again. And just when he had gotten the tears to stop coming, the strained voice to rest. Viktor’s breath was still too heavy, his frame trembling in the emotion and devastation of everything just seconds before. There was no easy recovery from this, but Yuuri could try in the hopes of saving their relationship before either had the chance to foolishly shatter it in a moment’s excitement, to dissolve the reasonings and concerns that had plagued both for so long. They needed a breath of peace.

So Yuuri sang.

It was gentle and hushed, barely a whisper. The words were rhythmic, calming, lacking the power behind his other songs. It was closer to a lullaby, a beautiful way to lay their fears to rest for the moment. There was no clear response in it, no words that Yuuri didn’t have the skill to string together.

There was only the song and the light, warm wind it stirred up.

Viktor let his eyes fall half-closed, drowning out everything else so that he could listen to Yuuri and appreciate the breeze. His scurrying thoughts eventually paused in their mission of comprehension, leaving only Yuuri’s soft voice to be conscious of. His tears had stopped and his lungs no longer struggled in his earlier anguish, all by Yuuri’s soothing answer, leaving him to feel only the breeze and Yuuri’s touch.

He had no doubts in what Yuuri was trying to say.

And when the song had come to its final note, a comforting thing that still resonated in the air even after it had been spent, Viktor pulled Yuuri close to him. He relaxed into the same consuming embrace he had initiated a few days prior, hands clasped at Yuuri’s back and himself buried in Yuuri’s shoulder. It was met halfway, barely noticeable if Viktor hadn’t dimly realized that it was Yuuri’s step forward that closed the distance between them first. But Yuuri had reciprocated; he stood on his tiptoes to throw his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and nuzzled close to Viktor’s neck.

“So, is that song for your tsar or for a friend?” Viktor asked after a moment, not caring of how his voice was muffled.

“It’s for someone I love.”

“I have to return to my tsardom, you know. At least to give warning of my leave.”

“Then don’t go without me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Phichit, Beka, I want you to meet Makkachin!”

Yuuri had been the first out of the carriage though he didn’t have to go too far before Makkachin met him, her paws transferring all her weight to his shoulders as she reached to lick his face. He laughed and put a hand to her head, not wanting the affection to end. He had _definitely_ missed her.

Otabek didn’t hesitate. He stepped up beside Yuuri and pet Makkachin, remembering Vicchan vaguely considering the resemblance but relying more on Yuuri’s word in his trust of her.

It was Phichit who kept his distance for a moment, simply watching the display before making any moves. He remembered Vicchan well; he also remembered all of the other hounds they had met over the centuries. Only Makkachin’s licking at Otabek’s hand and Yuuri’s devout faith in her eventually convinced him to pet her.

Human society was an utterly new experience.

“I’m here, too, you know.” Viktor followed after Makkachin breathlessly, having lost pace with her when she bolted forward to meet Yuuri.

“Oh, yeah. Meet Viktor, too, I guess,” Yuuri hummed, not looking up.

“I prefer Makkachin,” Otabek asserted, which drew agreement from Yuuri.

Phichit left Yuuri’s side, however, to examine Viktor. Viktor tried to maintain a kind smile, though Phichit’s sudden judgment had caught him unexpectedly. After a few moments of standing still, Phichit seemed to have finally come to a decision.

“So how do you know we can trust him, Yuuri?”

Or not.

“I think his having such a good dog speaks for itself.” Otabek again. Makkachin _almost_ switched to jumping on Otabek instead.

“Do I really come off as that bad?” Viktor questioned, carding a hand through his hair and frowning.

“Well, no. But I’ve heard all about you from Yuuri and I know a few things about humans so I thought I’d better check. We’ll pick this up again later if I’m not convinced.” Phichit narrowed his eyes for a moment before lightening the mood again. “In the meantime! Yuuri came back with some really nice clothes. You have any that will fit me?”

“Probably. Though I think we’d need to have the seamstress make new clothes for Otabek.”

“You can do that?” Phichit gasped.

“Anything is fine with me.” Otabek finally took the initiative of pulling Makkachin over to rest against his shoulders.

“You actually listened to me when I told you about Phichit and Otabek?” Yuuri used his newfound freedom to move to Viktor’s side, resting his head against Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor responded by slinging an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“I can only respond to one thing at a time,” Viktor laughed. “Join me in my parlor?”

“Parlor? Ugh, Yuuri, you should’ve filled us in more about this stuff. Now what kind of human thing is a _parlor_ supposed to be?”

“I promise it’s simpler than you think, Phichit.”

“Really, Yuuri?”

“Well…”

Viktor led the way to the parlor, explaining the intricacies of human life as they passed down portrait adorned halls and doors open to stately rooms filled with the most impressive of heirlooms and furnishings. He gestured to a painting of Yakov in his youth with a note on how his entire dynasty had followed lenient policies toward spirits, even those on the fringe of society. He paused to present large libraries populated with a wide manner of books, emphasizing how whatever humans knew of the Vili was largely contained within these tomes. It was mostly for his benefit in getting Phichit to trust him more; it worked as much as such a presentation could be expected to.

Phichit wasn’t ready to tell him that he was already starting to warm up to Viktor primarily from his trust in Yuuri. And the knowledge that his earlier threat would take care of any of Viktor's remaining questionable traits, should he be found to have any.

Trailing behind them and only half-listening was Otabek, preoccupied with Makkachin and depending on her and the others’ vague voices to guide the way for him. To Viktor’s ornate property and possessions, he preferred the maze of his forest back home. To the ever constant voices spilling words he couldn’t quite understand, he preferred the gentle lapping of the lake and wind combing the leaves. These halls were foreign, stifling to the existence he had always known. Still he followed, content enough by Makkachin’s presence and the purpose of being there at all in interest of Yuuri and Phichit, of what Viktor was like after all he had heard.

He was also now content to not return after this, outside of wanting to spend time with Makkachin, of course.

“And here’s the parlor! It really is simple, Phichit.” Viktor leaned against the double doors to the room, one hand flush against the wood. He winked, as though that would help bolster his claim. “It’s just a room where we sit and talk!”

“Wait, that’s it?” Phichit raised an eyebrow.

“Told you it was simple.”

Phichit clicked his tongue a few times in disapproval before giving in to Viktor’s proud smirk. “Alright, alright, I guess I can see that being an important room for humans. If other humans are like you, you all must be talking constantly. Of course you’d need a room for just that.”

“You’re one to talk!” Yuuri laughed, nudging Phichit. The response was a swift brushing away of Yuuri’s hand.

Deciding to let the teasing remark go unheeded, Viktor turned to the door and pushed it open. The next part of his speech was already on his tongue, prepared beforehand just as every other word from him had been in anticipation of getting to fully present the home he intended to share with Yuuri.

“Now, while I have personally preferred the parlor because of its sofas, this room has the added benefit of Yuuri having spent a night— Yura?”

Viktor stopped short of his speech, of his crossing the threshold, and instead stared in confusion at the sofa he had lounged on just a few nights before opposite Yuuri. While he had been expecting the room to be cleared, he instead found Yuri perched on the sofa, balalaika pressed firmly against his knees. Yuri gave one final pluck at the strings before noticing Viktor and his company and jumping. Setting the balalaika aside, he stood up and glared at Viktor, arms crossed.

“Any reason you’re interrupting my practice?”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Viktor answered innocently. He shrugged and turned back to his company, grinning as he immediately thought of a way to make this work. According to Viktor’s standards. “Aside from having a newfound history with Yuuri, this is also where my younger brother, Yura, practices music! As any good member of the royal family, Yura has been studying the balalaika for a few years now and has exceeded expectations in— ”

“Yeesh, stop _flattering_ me, Vitya. Go play servant somewhere else.”

Assuming automatically that this would solve the issue, Yuri reclaimed his seat and took the balalaika into his arms once more. Fingers poised over the strings, he shot one final glare at Viktor before delving into a new song. Letting the others go ignored from then on was easy, second nature, to him.

Except.

Leaving Makkachin’s side, Otabek slipped past Phichit and Yuuri to stand next to Viktor. He watched Yuri carefully as his fingers flitted over the strings, weaving a song far more appealing than the voices of humans and more coherent than the wind and gentle tides he was accustomed to back home. Up until then, human culture had largely unconcerned him.

But this was something else.

As Otabek refused to move from where he stood or to acknowledge him, Viktor waited until Yuri’s song had come to a raucous close to ask if he still intended on following him. For all of his forgetfulness and blunt words, there was no missing the strong interest Otabek had in the music. Viktor could read it without word of agreement, knew quickly that Otabek’s afternoon with them ended there. He knew the answer before being given it.

“I’d rather stay here.” Short, concise. Almost a demand.

Viktor shrugged and turned to Yuri, who was already staring at Otabek in an attempt to discern him, his motives. With the same cold look as a soldier, examining and logistical and determined. “Is it fine with you if he stays, Yura? This one has been pretty quiet.”

“His name is Otabek,” Phichit added proudly, leaning in between Otabek and Viktor. Yuri only hummed at the new information.

“I guess he can stay.” Yuri pried his eyes from Otabek and took an idle hand to the strings again. “Just don’t make too much noise.”

Otabek accepted the offer silently and sat on the sofa opposite of Yuri’s, posture straight and shoulders squared. Aside from his newfound fascination with the instrument Yuri held, he was obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings.

It was not until a few moments after Viktor had left to continue his tour that Yuri bothered to look at Otabek again. He finished out the song, able to play without watching the placement of his fingers as he cast further glances dripping with suspicion toward Otabek.

“What? Have you never seen a balalaika before?” Yuri asked harshly once the final note had died down into a mere echo.

Otabek shook his head, meeting Yuri’s harsh attitude with his own cold stare, determined and curious. “We don’t have instruments beyond those old bone flutes. Singing makes up our music for the most part.”

“Heh, really? We have a lot more instruments than just the balalaika. I’ll show you some time, if you’re actually interested.”

“I’d rather stick with the balalaika,” Otabek insisted. “Perhaps you can show me that instead, since you know how to play it well.”

“I can see why. It’s a good instrument.” Yuri flicked the wooden body, bowed his head. “So, there’s three strings, obviously. You do have _counting_ , right?”

“We’ve figured out how to control the wind with our voices. Even if we didn’t have counting, I imagine we could figure out the balalaika as well,” Otabek deadpanned, though he leaned forward to study the strings.

A brief flash of mortification flickered across Yuri’s features, a light shade of red tinting his cheeks, before he nodded and replaced it all with a small smile. Adjusting to the assumption that Otabek knew enough to follow his instructions, Yuri continued teaching him about the components and sounds of the balalaika. He plucked every note, gave his tips on how to ensure every string was in tune, then played a short song, one composed of only a couple of notes and following a simple tune.

“So… It’s not that bad, if you know what you’re doing.” Yuri stood and offered the balalaika to Otabek. “Wanna try?”

Otabek took it from Yuri and copied his every movement. Same posture, same grip on the neck, same motion in plucking, same notes and count to follow the song Yuri had played. He ran through it a few times, fixing previous mistakes and stumbles until he had mimicked Yuri’s movements perfectly. Then, once he had perfected his own performance, he held it back out.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. I mean, you got it down quickly. Wanna try another, um…?” Yuri bit his bottom lip, stopping short as he realized Otabek’s name had quickly been forgotten.

“Otabek. Beka.” Otabek shrugged.

“Yuri.” He paused, reconsidered. “ _Yura_.”

“Can we try another?”

Yuri bent over the balalaika once more and began plucking a faster tune.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit had a surprising adoration of cakes. Round cakes covered with every fruit the kitchen was able to offer. The Vili had been given cakes before as appeasement, but being left such offerings from time to time and getting to try every cake there was in succession were two different experiences. Phichit preferred the latter.

Although their need for food was lacking compared to humans, Yuuri and Phichit had sat at the dining room table with Viktor throughout the evening. Yuuri sat immediately to Viktor’s side, which would have been surprising to the rest of those who dined with the tsar if he had not been boasting of Yuuri’s arrival constantly. Phichit had conversed with them until he heard of the cakes served at Winter Palace; he hadn’t paid much mind to Yuuri since had begun begging the servants to bring him some.

Across from Yuuri, Christophe had smirked and winked once garnering his attention. It was undoubtedly a belated reference to their only worthwhile previous conversation, that much was clear to Yuuri. It almost would have caught him off guard, and from anyone else it would have, but he had come to understand that this was simply Christophe’s nature. Unsure of how to properly respond to Christophe’s bragging, Yuuri only glanced at Viktor nervously in the hopes that he hadn’t noticed then gave Christophe a smile in the same manner.

He was relieved Viktor had not noticed after all.

He couldn’t say he had the same emotions about Christophe’s triumphant air.

In fact, even over the din of the dining hall, Yuuri could’ve sworn he had heard a snippet of Christophe’s conversation with the man next to him. There was some effort in keeping it quiet, though in the end Christophe’s boisterous laughter won out. And when Christophe said “Our tsar has seduced the seducer! And I know from the tsar himself that the opposite is true”, it reached him perfectly. It was a stressful insight to hear; Yuuri’s attention was stolen before he could consider it beyond hearing it.

“Yuuri, will you join me outside after dinner?” Viktor leaned closer to Yuuri, lowered his voice, rested a light hand on top of Yuuri’s.

Yuuri turned quickly to Viktor, eyes wide and thoughts consumed on the invitation. There was no managing the excited smile that graced his features in return. “Of course.”

“Good. In that case…” Viktor shoved his plate away and stood without a word. He looked at Yuuri expectantly until his actions were copied then led them toward the door to the gardens. No warning, no consideration to the others. His attention was focused solely on Yuuri. “We best go now. I can’t wait any longer.”

Standing at the edge of the pavement, Viktor turned to Yuuri and unclasped the locket from about his neck. The one he hadn’t opened since Yuuri had left Winter Palace the first time, that he had avoided acknowledging and resisted taking off from the hurt and loneliness Yuuri’s leaving had left him with.

It didn’t sting anymore, the pain dulled and largely diminished by Yuuri’s company.

Yuuri stood beside him.

“You… still have that.” Yuuri meant for it to be a question though his voice fell flat. Of everything Viktor had done, this was one of the more shocking actions to him. “Why?”

“I guess it’s a bit different for you. We keep hair, when it means something. Especially hair thought to be magical. I’m pretty sure this counts as magical.”

Yuuri stared at Viktor for a long moment before connecting the sentimentality with some thought. “Hair of a Vila. And even more, the hair that almost killed a Vila. Right. Why keep it exactly?”

“I’ve had my reasons. A dim hope that it might have helped you recover, the fear that getting rid of the lock might be disrespectful to you, it being the one thing I had left of you when you left.” Viktor sighed and unclasped the locket. “Which, was my fault, I know. But you’re back now, and well. Time to let it go; I have my Yuuri back.”

Viktor ran a finger along the strands before loosening the grip. The summer’s breeze went to work quickly, relinquishing the lock from Viktor’s hand.

“Humans are odd,” Yuuri hummed. He watched Viktor throughout all this, noticing the melancholic nostalgia that resonated in his voice and expression. There didn’t seem to be the right mixture of confusion and worry over Viktor’s sentimentally driven actions, mostly that there could never be enough of either.

“At least we aren’t known for tickling people to death,” Viktor reciprocated automatically.

“I…” Yuuri grimaced. There was no debating or excusing that fact.

Viktor turned back to Yuuri. “So, now that the past seems to be resolved… Unless you’re keeping any other secrets from me? No? Well, as I was saying, I wanted to ask you something. I know Winter Palace is a lot different from your home, but would you consider moving in with me? For at least part of the year? We can divy up our time between here and the lake — in half would be best, of course — if that’s something you’re interested in. And I can always plant more trees here if that’s what you want. Actually, not me, but someone I hired could. And Phichit and Otabek would be welcome to stay. And—”

A burst of laughter from Yuuri stopped Viktor short. After a moment Yuuri recollected himself enough to give Viktor the proper answer he had been yearning for: “Of course. We’ll figure it out, but I won’t leave your side again.”

As if to legitimize this promise, Yuuri stood on his tiptoes briefly in order to kiss Viktor. His lips met Viktor's gently, only for a fluttering moment, before he lowered himself down on his heels. A light blush dusted his cheeks and a small smile gave every other bit of his joy away, laid his love bare.

Viktor pulled Yuuri close to him, an arm wrapped around Yuuri’s shoulders and his head resting against Yuuri’s. He kissed Yuuri on the forehead softly. The sigh that escaped him this time was from contentment, and the smile on his lips inspired by pure ecstasy.

This was it. Nothing could get better than this. No one could cure Viktor of the pressing and weighty loneliness as the Vila who had saved him, been linked to him by fate for years, trusted Viktor with his life, in the end only wanted what was best for him, and was now leaning against his shoulder. The one who had sung the wind into existence for him and only had premonitions of him. The one who had taught Viktor more about his own tsardom than anyone else ever had and still stood on equal grounds with him. And the one who he had invested his complete faith, his life and love, in.

Nothing could get better than holding Yuuri close to him. The summer wind he had come to associate with bright Yuuri and the sky adorned with stars. It was real, full of life. _Love_.

“I had faith you wouldn’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I still don’t understand why you won’t let me braid your hair.”

Yuri’s hair had grown long in the several intervening years since Yuuri had moved in. Though Viktor and Yuuri now spent winters at the lake, back amongst the Vili, Yuuri lived at Winter Palace with Viktor and Yuri for the rest of the time. More often than not, this meant Phichit and Otabek accompanying him. Phichit was understandable; he was there for Yuuri, having been attached to him for centuries, the best friend he could claim.

But Otabek was another matter. A mysterious addition to everyone but Yuri.

Since learning of the balalaika and discovering his adeptness at the instrument over the years, Otabek had insisted on becoming a permanent fixture of the palace. With determination and persistence, he had mastered the balalaika, coming into his own as a musician almost as skilled as Yuri. And even when he began adding knowledge of the other instruments to his repertoire, it was the balalaika that had given him a greater interest in Winter Palace.

And it was Yuri, their friendship, that coaxed him into staying.

Yuri had taught Otabek other skills as well; those that had never been useful to the tight-knit Vili. He learned to write in cursive Cyrillic, turning the shaky letters into rigid and pristine script over the years. Otabek had even begun leaving Yuri short and cheerful notes of encouragement when he was called to replace Viktor as tsar in the winters. These Yuri cherished and kept, though he appreciated the songs Otabek had started composing for him far more.

Otabek had also learned more of the domesticated animals humans kept. He loved Makkachin and spent a good amount of time with her, though he came to adore the cat Yuri kept as well. He had promised to one day show Yuri the bears he encountered back home and Yuri had agreed with fervor. Only Viktor was uncertain of his promise.

In this regard, Viktor had proven to be mundane to Otabek. Perhaps in protection of Yuri against threats he knew little about. Instead, Viktor imparted the wisdom of _braiding_ to Otabek, showing him how to tie in the knots in Otabek's own long hair. Although Yuuri had refused to braid his hair back more often than not, with Phichit in strict agreement with him, Otabek had shown interest. Not much, but just enough for Viktor to feel justified in teaching him how to braid and plait hair. As a result, Otabek had been offering to braid Yuri’s hair for him for the past few months.

“Because only _girls_ wear braids. It’s them that wear their hair like that to… I don’t know, look good or whatever. I don’t have to,” Yuri frowned at Otabek and plucked at the balalaika absentmindedly.

“Vitya wore his hair in braids when he still had long hair,” Otabek pointed out.

“How did you know _that_?”

“He told me when he taught me how to braid. If the tsar himself wore braids to look sophisticated, I don’t see why you couldn’t, too.”

“That’s just Vitya; he likes that sort of stuff. It’s still feminine,” Yuri pouted.

“Why grow it out then? I know Phichit has been enjoying having short hair. Not that I can blame him; concern over hair hasn’t exactly been a priority to us in the past.” Otabek shrugged. He, on the other hand, had been wearing his hair in increasingly elaborate braids, even enlisting the aid of Viktor or one of the servants for the knots that he couldn’t do by himself.

Yuri gave a loud sigh. “Fine! If you want my hair to be braided so bad.”

Leaning the balalaika against the sofa cushion beside him, he stood to join Otabek where he sat on the opposite sofa. He threw his hair back behind his shoulders, letting it drip down past his shoulder blades, and leaned his head back for Otabek’s convenience. In the intervening years, Yuri had also reached Otabek’s height, though by now he was used to compensating for the inconveniences it could cause. He stretched his legs out along the rest of the sofa and kept himself stable with his hands, wrists lightly brushing Otabek’s leg.

“Thank you, Yura.” Otabek gave a slight smile in pride.

Otabek quickly got to work, combing Yuri’s hair with his fingers before plaiting the braid tight against his scalp and continuing in thicker knots down his back. Nimble fingers pulled each lock of hair taut in neat patterns until finally tying the braid off with a spare ribbon. Not wanting to ruin the meticulous work he had just finished, he withdrew his hands from Yuri’s hair quickly.

To Yuri’s disappointment; he had enjoyed Otabek braiding his hair. Much to his surprise. Physical contact had never been very welcome for Yuri, even from Otabek, though he couldn’t deny the pleasure that came from this. Of careful touches and brushes against his neck and back as the braid was finished. He was almost tempted to ruin the braid just so he could enjoy Otabek’s fingers running through his hair and working it over gently even for a moment longer, though he refrained for Otabek’s sake.

“There. Now you look ready for the concert tonight,” Otabek remarked, leaning away from Yuri and prompting him to turn back to meet Otabek’s glance.

“Oh, right. I can’t believe we’re still holding that dumb banquet tonight. I mean, I know Vitya and Yuuri getting married is a big deal and all, but honestly, half of that guest list is trash.” Yuri frowned and leaned back against the sofa, taking care to not loosen the braid in the process.

“So basically, everyone connected with that JJ guy?”

“Yep.”

“Well, you’ll do fine. You’ve been working on this song for months, Yurochka, it’s gonna astound everyone.” Otabek examined Yuri for a moment before tucking an intentionally loose lock behind his ear. “You should keep your hair like that. At least for tonight. You look good with your hair braided.”

“Yeah, I will. JJ won’t be able to present anything more beautiful.” Yuri reached up at Otabek’s touch to lace their fingers together. In his youth, he would have bowed his head, scoffed. But he trusted Otabek. He kept his gaze on Otabek even as he blushed, his lips involuntarily falling into a shy grin. “You think so?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Plus you two will match,” Phichit interrupted, copping a seat next to the balalaika.

“Find some other friends,” Yuri sneered.

“Harsh, Yura. This whole place is my friend, especially the kitchen.”

Otabek smiled in amusement. “Everything else you do here and you always come back to those cakes.”

Phichit simply shrugged. “They’re the best gifts humans have to offer. I’m tired of ribbon and you can only admire clothing for so long. Cakes aren’t ever _not_ pleasurable.”

Otabek nodded solemnly, as if taking the advice to heart, while Yuri groaned loudly.

“Forget it. C’mon Beka, help me get ready for that damn banquet.”

Snatching the balalaika from where he had propped it up, Yuri left the room briskly. A lot had changed in Yuri's attitude toward the Vili, had been reframed with every new correction and piece of information, though it affected his biases, not his personality, ultimately. Thus, the others were alright to be around for short stints of time, Phichit least of all considering his useless banter and propensity to notice the rumors of the palace, though in the end he could only tolerate Otabek, their comfortable silence or aimless conversations, for longer periods.

“We’ll have to braid your hair again,” Otabek observed. The banquet called for far more eloquent dress than what Yuri was already wearing and could already guess the end result.

“That won’t be an issue,” Yuri responded quickly.

Lilia had already laid out a few options for the banquet, traditional wear meant for a wedding celebration of such prominence as the _tsar’s_. Yuri had always been predictable in his choices, though, automatically filtering through the options and coming away with a long black tunic, heavily embroidered in grey and gold and complete with a white scarf at his waist. The red slippers Lilia had managed to procure for him were an appreciated bonus.

When Yuri had changed for the evening’s celebrations, Otabek nodded at the newly loosened strands of hair and put a finger to his lips. The simple braid he had put in before was handsome on Yuri, but this ensemble called for more. The celebration and Yuri’s intent of competing against JJ and winning _demanded_ more.

Forcing Yuri to sit down, a gentle hand on his shoulder to guide him, Otabek loosened the rest of the braid and shook out the golden locks. He ran a comb through his hair a few times before finally working it into a new braid. Only this time, he intended it to be more elaborate. Starting at Yuri’s temple, he plaited the locks close against Yuri’s scalp on both sides before meeting the braids at the back and leaving the rest of the strands and remaining hair loose. At the end of the braided portion, he tied a bow with bright red ribbon.

“I believe this should suffice for the banquet?” Otabek asked once he had tied the bow.

Yuri turned to face him quickly, not even bothering to examine his reflection in his vanity mirror first. His expression was hardened, just barely giving away the affection and amazement he felt toward Otabek in that moment. “This is perfect. Better than perfect. You should always do my hair like this.”

“Okay.” It was a simple response; Otabek wasn’t one to admit how much he enjoyed working over Yuri’s hair. Of finding such a lovely distraction in the task so quickly. A task close to fully showing how fond he was of Yuri. “We should go, or we’re gonna be late.”

Otabek also wasn’t one to admit how little he still understood human customs. He enjoyed the braids, dressing in raiment similar to Yuri’s, the variety of instruments, the keeping of such loving pets, but the rest was a mystery. The speeches and where silverware is placed on the table and why food was so important anyway were beyond him. He knew every word in the speeches, he was familiar with many of the references behind them, but the reason for such long and winded speeches eluded him. They were rarely to the point; even Viktor stood for far too long, though Otabek could forgive him more since every word was about Yuuri, led back to Yuuri in some way or other.

When the man next to Otabek — Emil something, if his memory served correctly — had finished his speech, he was offered a chance to say something. He almost declined, had nothing else to add beyond all that had already been said, until he caught Yuri’s expectant look. _Must be a human thing_.

Otabek stood, cleared his throat. “All these speeches and customs aren’t that important to the Vili, but it’s good that so many people care about Yuuri and Vitya enough to say all of this for them. I’d wish you luck in figuring out how to be with an immortal spirit, Vitya, but you seem to have already figured it out.”

It was short, flat, and drew many looks from other guests. No one dared call Viktor by his diminutive in such a formal setting. But it was only from other attendants, the foreign ambassadors and royalty and other officials, that showed any such concern. Viktor, Yuri, neither gave much thought over it. The Vili never fully understanding, never being able to fully conform to human societal expectations after so many centuries separated from them, had already been an accepted fact to them.

Otabek looked to Yuri with curiosity, wondering if his speech was enough. He couldn’t ignore the relief felt when Yuri gave him an approving nod.

After the table had been cleared of dishes and every drawling speech had come to a close, a few different guests stepped forward to play their various songs. It kept the banquet lively while offering yet another gift to the newly wedded couple.

Among the solo musicians was JJ, skilled on the balalaika and proud of having played more intricate and gorgeous songs than the rest over previous years. His newest song was swift in tempo, a beautiful thing that rose and fell as if in breath, as if a flame flickering. Every note was filled with life, the high feeling of living life fully and completely. It was enough to inspire excitement in his audience, to get others to clap along to the tune.

Viktor and Yuuri made no such move, showed no sign of emotion. Even if diplomatic ties had to be kept in place, neither welcomed JJ’s presence.

“Think you can find a more enchanting song than that, _princess_?” JJ smirked, standing over Yuri as soon as he had finished his performance.

“Oh, sorry, you’re here? I didn’t think they allowed low-life criminal scum in Winter Palace,” Yuri snided. He met JJ’s conceited expression with his own icy glare.

“Is that any way for such a pretty lady to talk?” JJ leaned closer to Yuri, tone and raise of an eyebrow revealing his need for a challenge.

“Enough,” Otabek said across from them. He met JJ’s glance sternly, steady.

“Defending the long-haired princess, _Vila_?”

“More like trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself even further. Yura looks perfect with long hair.” It was nonconfrontational, firm, a silent order for JJ to walk away now.

“Unlike you!” Yuri added, smiling cruelly. “You and that gross oily hair of yours. I don’t know _what_ you use in your hair but keep it up, JJ, seriously. It really reflects who you are.”

JJ scoffed and walked away with the remark that he was better than to engage in such banter, which Yuri laughed at.

Yuri stepped up soon after JJ had walked away, sporting an expression of arrogance and resolve. His composition had been a challenge, a deviation from the fiery songs he usually composed or recited for such occasions. For all of his own need to show who he truly was, Yuri was not ignorant to the tone his song needed so as to complete the wedding banquet. It was a testament to himself as a musician, leader, brother. It was a gentle piece, innocent and filled with soft love, individual and gentle plucks of the strings like raindrops and an overarching melody of warm summer wind. It was everything he had noticed in Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship during the good times, every song Yuuri had sung for Viktor — and then annoyingly discussed and analyzed and agonized over by Viktor — that invoked the world around them to life. It was soft and fulfilling and everything that defined their relationship.

Yuuri had tried to thank Yuri sincerely several times, though everytime Yuri only waved him off. He was more intrigued by what Viktor was saying.

“I know none of us were expecting this, including me, but we have one more original composition for the night. He requested to play after all others, so he should be finishing us off on a cheerful note.”

Viktor winked then sat back down.

Yuri stared at him for a moment, confused. He had thought he would be the last in the procession, to have the final say and have the sole satisfaction in eradicating JJ’s smug smile, which he had already done quite successfully. So who—

 _Otabek_.

He held a richly decorated balalaika, brightly adorned with a painting of the woods he called his home, that Yuri had gifted to him a couple of years before. Peering down at the strings for a moment, he prepared himself, positioned his fingers and corrected his posture before beginning.

And it wasn’t just the melody he coaxed out of his balalaika that made the song beautiful.

No, the addition of his voice was what completed it, placing further emotion behind every word and harmonizing a song that would have been harsh and disjointed without it. His words directly reflected every note, foraging a beautiful story from the chaos of the piece. The lyrics were vague, imagery of the forest and Winter Palace and someone’s brilliant smile without relinquishing identifying details outright. Most came away from the song with the strong belief that it was a poetic rendition of Viktor and Yuuri’s love story, their happiness even against and after all the turmoil. This assumption extended to even Viktor and Yuuri.

Yuri knew better.

Yuri listened closely to the song, to the words and notes he didn’t recognize. It was completely Otabek’s work, completely Otabek. And he was not amiss to the subtle word choice that led him to their own story instead of solely Viktor and Yuuri’s story. The mention of abandoment was a reflection of Otabek leaving his home for Yuri, the umbrella term _music_ a reference to the balalaika over Yuuri’s songs, the hints of joy more fitting to their relationship than the open and very public one that characterized Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship. It was their story so cleverly disguised.

And what was more, that mesmerized Yuri just as much as the song itself did: Otabek  _sang_. Had _sung_ for Yuri. For all the years he had spent learning the balalaika and his steady attempt to add more instruments into his talent for music, Otabek had never sang before.

Yuri had heard of how beautiful the voice of a Vila could be, but he couldn’t have imagined this. He couldn’t have prepared himself for the beauty and subtle adoration seeping into Otabek’s tone.

Yuri had heard from Viktor what the songs of Vili could do.

But Otabek’s song didn’t inspire wind as Yuuri’s always had. It didn’t inspire the rest of the audience to fall in love with Otabek aside from their newfound appreciation for his song. There was no magic to his words, not at the level of power and influence that was expected of the Vili.

No, the only person enraptured so was Yuri. Even after coming to believe that he could not find any greater joy in Otabek, he was proven wrong beyond doubt. The song was beautiful and graceful, his voice mesmerizing, his very singing something to obsess over and admire. It was a sensation. A pleasure to be cherished along with the times when Otabek braided his hair, his gentle touch and gentle voice.

“You definitely won the night, Beka,” Yuri said when the banquet had drawn to a close.

“I thought you’d like that one.” Otabek slipped his hand into Yuri’s, ready to lead them to the parlor before Yuri tugged them in a different direction. Toward Yuri’s room.

“I’d rather not leave your side anymore.”

Because he got to watch Otabek come into his own and was immensely proud. Because this process was natural, and Otabek had helped him open up more than anyone else ever had, had been the first person he could fully trust and meet halfway instead of doing everything alone. Because he was growing accustomed to Otabek’s touch, beginning to like the companionship and love. Because he knew everything the song meant, the love and hopes and life in it, and reciprocated every sentiment. Because he knew he loved Otabek, and knew it was not one-sided now.

“Then I won’t, ever again.”

This I know because I was there at the wedding banquet and drank mead and beer; it ran down my mustache, but it never got into my mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical A/N:  
> \- Viktor being willing to "give up his life" for Yuuri was very deliberate word choice not just because he's Extra, but also because going to extreme lengths like this is common in Russian myths. There are Russian myths where a tsar will abandon their tsardom for years just to be with their spouse in another tsardom.  
> \- A balalaika is a traditional Russian string instrument. They typically look like [this](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/48/Balalaika.svg/1200px-Balalaika.svg.png). Yuri plays a smaller version of the balalaika here.  
> \- JJ seems like the sort to use hair products like gel, though doing this in ~1700s Russia might be a bit difficult, hence the insult on his hair.  
> \- the odd ending is how a lot of Russian fairytales end; the reveal of a narrator and offhand remark.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story!!


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